


I'll Eat You Up, I Love You So

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, a Prince ran from his Kingdom, wishing to live a normal life. He took refuge in The Shire and broke a young Hobbits heart before being dragged back to Erebor and to his family and duty. Twenty years later, Bilbo is sent off as an emissary to Erebor to establish trade routes between Hobbits and Dwarves, and their paths cross again. But Bilbo is older now, and wiser, and does not wish to open his heart once more to have it broken by the same man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, new idea, tell me what you think! I've got a few more chapters already written up, so I'll be updating regularly, but it's a WIP, so go easy on me.

Bilbo had only ever fallen in love once. He liked to blame it on youth and ignorance, on hormones or neediness, but deep down he knew the truth. And the truth was that it had nothing to do with those things. His pain came from those things- the hurt he felt once he’d been betrayed and ditched like trash.

He’d said his name was Thorin, although Bilbo had hardly a clue if that was his real name, or a pseudonym he’d used while he was here. He’d travelled to The Shire to set up shop at the old Forge. Hobbits had smiths, of course, but none as talented as Dwarven smiths.

Bilbo had never seen anything like him before, and he’d fallen in love instantly.

He was smart and witty and completely oblivious to the open adoration everyone had for him. Or perhaps he was simply used to it, Bilbo did not know. His talent with a hammer was superseded only by his talent with his tongue. He was scathing and biting and sarcastic at all the right times, able to make someone laugh or cry or swoon with the slightest word.

Bilbo had been one of many, something he hadn’t realised at the time. He’d been young, barely even twenty-five, and quite foolish, as young people were. He’d imagined that perhaps Thorin had felt the same.

But it was not so. What he did was willing, of course, he’d never lie about that. He’d willingly let Thorin take him by the hand to the back rooms of the forge, he’d willingly unlaced his own breeches and slipped off his braces. He’d delighted in it all.

And then, as these things went, he’d caught sight of the same thing happening a week later. Some Hobbit lass, he never saw who she was. Just Thorin. At the sight of it, he’d just hightailed it out of there before he’d been caught.

Naturally, he’d been heartbroken. He’d cried on his mother’s shoulder while she cooed him, and then he’d cried at night into his pillow, trying to bite back sobs so his parents didn’t hear.

By the time he’d worked up enough courage to go back to the Forge, it had been packed up and abandoned. Apparently ‘Thorin’ had been visited late one night by some other Dwarves, only to leave along with them in what seemed to be a hurry.

Bilbo bit back his sadness. After all, the Dwarf was not deserving of it. Not in the least. But knowing something and believing it were two very different things. So he’d mourned. Silently. And tried to move on. It seemed that he was not in favour with the Maker, for whatever reason. Because not a year later, both his parents had died during the Fell Winter, and at the grand age of twenty-six, he’d become the Master of Bag-End.

The loneliness cut through him like an icy knife, draining him of all blood and leaving him in the snow, and he decided then and there that it was best he never loved anyone ever again, because it only resulted in pain.

 

* * *

 

Thorin’s father had been furious when he’d returned to Erebor. “You are Crown Prince,” he’d snarled in anger, disappointment and fury in his gaze, “and you will _behave_ like a Crown Prince, is that understood?”

Thorin had just nodded mutely. Frerin had found it all very amusing.

“I don’t see why you feel the need to run off like that,” he’d said later that night, stretching out on Thorin’s bed like it was his own (a habit of his that Thorin _loathed_ ). “We have everything we need here.”

“Some of us like to be treated like actual _people_ , Frerin.” Thorin had snarled, sounding much like his father.

Frerin had rolled his eyes. “Nonsense. You just like to be able to fuck whoever you want without consequence. So tell me brother,” his eyes glittered, “did you get what you wanted?”

Thorin gave him no reply. He had, in fact. Many times with many others. He supposed in a way it was a form of rebellion against the idea of him being saddled with and betrothed to some distance Price or Princess to one of the other kingdoms of the Dwarves. His father had been talking of such things before Thorin had run off, and he would no doubt mention them again.

It was his _duty_ and his _obligation_ as Prince to marry well, as he had come of age and had no One. He had looked, of course, and hoped that the strange emptiness in his stomach and chest had been because his mate had been waiting for him, but as time passed he realised that it wasn’t so. It was just… emptiness. The same emptiness all unmated Dwarrows felt. So sometimes he lost himself in the bodies of others, there was nothing wrong with that. Only the fact that he was a Prince, and was intended to save himself for when he was married.

Thorin had no such plans.

And they had all been wonderful, some more than others, but that was not the point. He ought to be free to do what he wished, but he could not, because of silly words like _obligation_ and _duty_. The Hobbits of The Shire had been quite a welcome relief. They enjoyed the more pleasurable things in life. Song and food and dance and sex. It didn’t matter. So Thorin had enjoyed those things, too, upon his stay. He worked hard during the day, and during the night he ate and laughed and fucked until he was spent and collapsed on his bed.

If he was honest, he had only come back willingly for his sister, Dis, who had found her One not a day after her coming-of-age and would soon be married.

He would have stayed longer if he had not been dragged back. He would have poked around and tried to find that nice little Hobbit with the big eyes he’d been with once and never saw again. He’d seemed young, perhaps too young, but Thorin had thoroughly enjoyed his company. And… other things, of course. But it was not just that. He had a charming way about him, with his tawny hair and nimble hands and wide eyes and brilliant smile. Thorin had hoped that at the very least, he would see him again once or twice. But it seemed luck was not on his side. He couldn’t even remember the charming creature’s name. Braggins? Broggins? He was not sure.

The next night the family ate together, as if nothing had happened at all. Thorin could tell they were still mad though, from his father’s stony expression to his mother’s worried frown. They ate in silence, which was the only indication that things were tense between them.

Sometime between Thorin’s first and second helpings there was a knock at the door.

“My lord?” Balin poked his head through the door, interrupting their dinner. “I apologise, but an emissary from the Iron Hills wishes to speak to you.”

“It is of no matter, Balin,” Thrain replied with a wave of his hand, “send him in.”

The messenger stepped inside, head held high in that haughty manner that Thorin hated. He came to a stop in front of his mother and father, near the fire, and bowed deeply. “Your Highness.”

Thrain, barely managing to repress an amused smile, bowed his head politely. “What is it you wanted?” he queried.

“I bring a letter from Fain, son of Kain, King of the Iron Hills.” The emissary offered the letter. “Fain wishes to offer you a way of further strengthening our ties.”

“By?” His mother wondered, accepting the parchment.

“Marriage, Your Highness. Between Gila, daughter of Mira and Thorin son of Thrain.”

Thorin stiffened, dropping his fork with a clatter. He’d only been here for all of two days (in fact, barely even _that_ ) and he was already being fobbed off to someone from the Iron Hills? He sighed, unhappy. He’d still be in The Shire, if he’d had his way, fixing pots and pans, eating his fill, and searching the rolling hills for that Boggins fellow. Hobbits didn’t have to deal with this sort of arranged marriage nonsense.  If they did not wish to marry, they did not marry. It was as simple as that.

Thrain hummed now, reading over his wife’s shoulder. “We shall consider the offer,” he said eventually, looking thoughtful, “and send a reply when we have decided.”

The emissary bowed again. “Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness.”

Thorin resisted the urge to immaturely mimic him like some child. He rolled his eyes and glanced down at his plate, appetite diminished all of a sudden.

“So who is it?” Dis demanded once the emissary left, the door clicking shut loudly behind him.

“Who is who?” Thorin asked, unable to keep the ire out of his tone. He reached for his tankard, only half-listening to the reply.

“The one who made you flinch at the thought of marrying another.”

Thorin choked on his drink and turned to find his siblings watching him curiously. His mother as well, from the other side of the room. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear sister,” he returned after a moment of clearing his throat and composing himself.

Frerin looked intrigued at the conversation.

Dis just raised an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t.”

“If you want someone else,” Frerin suggested, “why not tell us? I am told the land you took refuge in is fertile and gives an abundance of crops. A marriage between a well-suited Hobbit and yourself would strengthen ties, wouldn’t it, Father?” He twisted in his seat to look at Thrain now.

Thrain was smiling openly, looking far more pleased than he had been a moment ago. “It would, Frerin.” He gave Thorin a considering look.

“Of course,” his brother continued, making Thorin pray to the Maker for some sort of reprieve, “he’d have to tell them he wasn’t just a smith, to begin with, and that he was in fact a Prince! What a shock that would be!”

“I do not know what you’re talking about.” Thorin said again, this time with more irritation. “And I do not wish to talk of this.” He got to his feet, chair scraping behind him. “I am going to my quarters.”

“Planning on writing a love letter, are we?” Frerin teased, jumping to his feet. “ _Dearest Hobbit, I will forever love you and-_ ”

“Enough,” Thorin growled, stalking from the room. He could hear Dis laughing, and feel the pitying look his mother gave him as he left.

It wasn’t brought up again until some weeks later when they received a rather distinguished visitor.

Tharkûn, the Wizard, waltzing into the royal court like he was expected, and bowing only slightly upon reaching the throne. “King Thrain,” he greeted him politely, “Erebor has flourished under your rule. Your father would be proud.”

Thrain looked pleased. “You are much welcome in our halls, Gandalf. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I am simply passing by,” Gandalf explained. Of course he was. No one expected a wizard to hang round. “I have come from the far West, where your people live, in the Blue Mountains.”

 _West_? Thorin perked up slightly at that. But Gandalf made no further mention of his travels.

The Blue Mountains were right near The Shire. Perhaps Thorin could ask the Wizard about the Hobbits. Well, one Hobbit in _particular_ , but that wasn’t the point.

He realised, rather belatedly, that he had missed the rest of whatever Gandalf had had to say. Something about trade routes, he thought.

“… and you are welcome to stay as long as you need,” Thrain was telling the Wizard now, as Thorin pulled himself from his reverie.

Gandalf bowed his head politely and made move to leave. Thorin decided it was best he speak to him now, before the Wizard disappeared again. He left his place beside the throne and made move to catch up with him.

“Tharkûn,” Thorin began now, reaching his side.

Gandalf turned to look down at him. “Your Highness?”

“On your journey through the West,” he began, quieter than he needed to. They were close to the door, and though they had a few curious spectators, no one was within hearing distance. “Did you perhaps pass through The Shire?”

Gandalf looked surprised, and slightly pleased. “I did, yes,” he returned. “Why do you ask?”

“Then perhaps I may ask if you know of a Hobbit named Boggins?”

The Wizard looked amused, much to Thorin’s irritation. “Boggins?” he asked.

“Yes,” he was fairly certain that was the name. “I would describe him, but I’m afraid it would just sound like any Hobbit.”

Except he wasn’t just _any_ Hobbit. He had the most fascinating eyes and smile and perhaps the most pleasing tufts of hair on his feet and- well, hell, he couldn’t say _that_ , could he?

“I am sorry to tell you, Your Highness, that I have known no such Hobbit by the name of B _o_ ggins.”

Thorin sighed loudly, visibly deflating. _Pity_. “Well, thank you anyway.”

“Is that his name?” Frerin chirped, suddenly behind him, as Gandalf walked way. _Mahal_ , was his brother never relenting in his torture? “ _Boggins_?”

Thorin looked over his shoulder and glowered at his brother. “Must you be so annoying?”

“Boggins, Boggins, Boggins!” Frerin began to chant the word in that sing-song voice of his, catching the attention of the other members of the royal court. On his throne, Thorin could see Thrain raise an eyebrow curiously.

“Hush,” he hissed, closing his eyes and praying for the patience to _not_ cut his brothers head off with an axe. “Shut up, Frerin.”

“Boggins, Boggins-”

Thorin smacked him up the back of his head, making Balin and Dwalin repress snickers across the room. “Get to the sparing grounds,” he ordered. “I would wish to crush you.”

“Dwalin,” Thrain sighed now, “please accompany my sons to the sparring grounds so the rest of us may have some peace.”

Frerin coloured at that, while a small chuckle washed through the room, but other than that he seemed unfazed. Dwalin gave a short nod and walked over to them, ushering them out of the Throne Room.

They were not needed here anyway. They had been in this room long enough, listening to people drone on and on. Thorin sighed, wondering how he’d ever deal with it when _he_ was King. He decided not to think about that until he was older. _Much_ older.

Frerin grinned. “Oh, you won’t this time,” he announced, looking proud of himself as they walked. “I have been practicing brother, in your absence. _Unrelentingly_.”

Dwalin snorted.

“There is no way I can lose,” he continued, looking certain of himself.

He did lose, of course. And then again when Thorin fought him with the swords, and then again when they switched to axes.

“I thought you said you’d been practicing?” Thorin teased, frowning down at him, sweating and covered in dust on the ground.

“It’s not my fault,” Frerin pouted now. “You’ve got all this anger, pent up frustration because you left some pretty Hobbit back in Hobbiton-”

“I will thrash you again,” Thorin warned.

Frerin stopped, but his grin remained in place. Dwalin disguised laughter as couching, but not very well in Thorin’s opinion.

Thorin briefly wondered, as he had many times these past few weeks, if he should just say that this Boggins was nothing more than someone he’d had a bit of a tussle with at the back of his shop. Certainly it had been a good tussle, and Boggins an enjoyable partner, but he was nothing more. Not some sort of star-crossed lover that his subjects had begun to gossip about. But for the life of him, he felt ashamed admitting that he’d fucked his way through half of Hobbiton on his time away, and that Boggins had just been the best of a batch. He wrinkled his nose. Hardly Princely behaviour.

No, his father would prefer him lying than admitting _that_. Besides, The Prince with The Lost Love sounded much better than The Prince Who Likes to Sleep ‘Round.

He sighed. There was no escaping this. After all, he’d made his own bed, and it was best he lay in it.

He’d just have to learn to deal with it.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo Baggins was enjoying a rather nice pipe of tobacco in his front garden when he was approached by a very tall man in a grey hat, whom he recognised almost instantly.

“Gandalf!” he was surprised, of course. He had not seen Gandalf since his parents’ funeral. It had been twenty three years ago, that, and Bilbo was now fifty. The same age his father had been when he’d married Belladonna and built Bag-End. “What a lovely surprise! Please, sit with me.” He gestured at the space on the bench beside him. Gandalf just smiled.

“I’m afraid I cannot stay long, dear Bilbo.”

“Oh?” He wasn’t all that surprised, Gandalf hardly ever stayed in one place too long. Although he had rather hoped for some company for just a little while.

“I have just come back from a meeting with the Thain of The Shire.” Gandalf went on to explain.

“ _Oh_?” he was even more curious now. “And what business did you have with them? Something to do with dragons or goblins or great adventures?”

Gandalf smiled softly. “Something like that,” he replied. “In fact, mostly the latter. Which is why I’ve come to see you.”

Bilbo felt his brow furrow. He hardly ever knew that Gandalf was on about, but even this was worse than usual. “Whatever do you mean?” he wondered now.

“My dear Bilbo,” Gandalf said now, eyes sparkling. “What do you think about going on an adventure?”

For a moment he did not reply, in a poor attempt to compose himself. “An adventure?” he asked, trying to tamper down his excitement. His voice squeaked, however, so he supposed it was clearly evident in his words. “Where?”

Gandalf laughed in amusement at his failed attempts to remain nonchalant and indifferent. “Why, to The Lonely Mountain, of course.”

Oh, Bilbo had read stories about Erebor. Of its beauty and riches, of it’s fine food and people. “Erebor?” he asked, butterflies in his stomach. “You want me to go with you to Erebor?”

“The Shire is looking for a representative. My suggestion was you, of course. You are related to Geronimus Took, the Thain, but also to the Bagginses, and (though you are loathe to admit it, I know) the Bracegirdles. So you are best suited to be an emissary.”

“You think so?” Bilbo asked, ignoring the jab about the Bracegirdle. There would be no admitting his relation to those blockheaded Bracegirdles from Hardbottle.

“I do, yes,” Gandalf hummed in reply.

“Well, I- I don’t know. I have Bag End you see. And many things I need to do around town-”

“Bilbo,” Gandalf cut him off calmly, “we both know very well, all your posturing aside, that you will come with me. Now go inside and get a bag packed.”

He was quiet for a few beats, unmoving, but eventually Bilbo jumped to his feet, giddy.  “I will be ever so quick, Gandalf, I promise.” He announced as he darted off inside, making a mental checklist of the things he needed to pack. He could hear Gandalf laughing behind him as he closed the door.

It was sometime after, when they were long out of the Shire, Bilbo frowning down at the pony he’d been given to ride, when he came to a worrying realisation.

“Oh, dear,” he murmured.

“What is it?” Gandalf asked.

“Well, it’s just… I have no idea what an Emissary even does.”

Gandalf’s delighted laughter carried over the rolling hills.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo had always wanted to meet the Elves; although it did not take him long to see that there was a stark difference between the ones from Rivendell and the ones from Mirkwood. Not that Thranduil and his subjects were lesser, not at all. They just seemed to be… more snobbish, perhaps. There was an air of disdain about them, and their backhanded compliments were oddly confusing and slightly smarting. Not that Bilbo would admit it, of course.

Nevertheless they were charming and intriguing creatures and Bilbo had been more than pleased upon meeting them. He was lament to leave them behind at the edge of Mirkwood, although he was glad to be out of the twisting woods and away from the red eyes that watched him and the scampering noses he heard through the trees.

Soon enough they passed through Laketown, Dale coming into sight as well as the splendorous view of the mountain. “My,” Bilbo breathed, looking up at it in the distance. “It certainly is magnificent.”

“The crown jewel of the Dwarven Empire,” Gandalf mused while Bilbo took it in. It became even more daunting the closer they got, and suddenly they were at the looming gates, Gandalf smiling politely at the guards, who recognised him instantly and let them in.

“You come here often?” Bilbo wondered.

“When I pass by,” Gandalf replied vaguely, never one to share the whole story.

Gandalf led them somewhere where they could leave their horses, before leading him through the winding streets. Bilbo couldn’t help but stare up at the ever-reaching walls that seemed to go on forever, and at the large stretching columns, and the intricate carvings in the stone. Enormous richly coloured tapestries covered the walls, depicting great battles and a slain dragon.

“What is that?” Bilbo wondered, gesturing at it.

“That is the story of Smaug, my dear Bilbo,” Gandalf explained. “He had come to ravish and destroy Erebor, but King Thrain, son of Thror took up his arms and fought against it. They call him Thrain Dragonslayer now.” Bilbo had read somewhere that Dwarves were given names for their great deeds.

“He killed a _dragon_?” Bilbo asked, eyes wide.

“There was a great battle,” Gandalf began as they walked, “and many had died, including Thrain’s father Thror, who was the King at the time. Thrain attacked, but his sword was no match for the dragon scales, in desperation he grabbed a bow,” Gandalf looked down at Bilbo, “Dwarves are not fond of bows, you understand. They find them a silly weapon that Elves use. But Thrain took up a bow and with one shot he took the dragon down. I’m lead to believe it was all very heroic. He took up the throne afterwards with his wife and three children.”

“Thrain Dragonslayer.” Bilbo repeated. “That is certainly impressive.” Bilbo couldn’t imagine trying to take down a _dragon_. He looked back at the tapestry, getting once last glance in before they turned the corner. “Where are we going, Gandalf?”

“To the Throne Room, of course,” Gandalf informed him. “To present ourselves to the King and his family.”

“Oh,” of course.

Gandalf looked at him, amused. “You remember what you are to do?”

“Bow and listen to what he says,” Bilbo recited. “And under no circumstances say anything rude.”

“Good.” They reached an archway now, with a slight crowd of people under it. Through he could see a large stretching room, and a large throne in the distance. Light shone from the spaces in the walls that looked down at the entryway to the mountain and into Dale. It was quite a view.

“Impressive,” Bilbo mused as they came to a stop behind the group.

“This way,” Gandalf weaved through the outside of the spectators, waving for Bilbo to stay close behind.

He could hear Dwarves speaking now. “… crops aren’t doing that well this season, Your Highness.” A meek voice was saying. “We will need to ask for more from the men of Laketown, or even the Elves-”

“The Elves?” A highly unimpressed voice replied now. Bilbo glanced around Gandalf to see it was the King. “They will not give us help so readily.”

Bilbo looked over the royal family now. The woman by Thrain’s side at the throne must have been his wife. She was regal and proud-looking and everything a Queen ought to be. She sat with her back straight and her head held her, the only sign of impatience being fingers gently tapping on the arm of her slight smaller Throne. Beside her stood another woman, in a dress of bright green, her hair laced with golden beads and chains and other decorative things. Her lips were twisted into something of an amused smirk. She glanced over the other side of the Thrones, where a blonde boy stood, looking incredibly bored.

“We do not have many other options, Your Highness.” The meek one returned, tugging nervously at his furs. “The Iron Hills are having much the same problem as well. The weather is harsh; our crops are not flourishing as we hoped they would.”

The King put a hand up, silencing the other. “We will work out a solution to this, Master Flrir, do not panic. We will have food through the harsh winter, even if it means making a deal with the Elves.”

Flrir bowed his head respectfully.

“You may not need to do so, Thrain, King under the Mountain.” Gandalf spoke now, stepping forward. “I have brought a representative of The Shire to sort out trade negotiations, as you requested.” He nudged at Bilbo to step forward. “Bow,” he informed him.

Bilbo frowned up at him. “But you didn’t bow,” he returned, a little louder that he should have. Someone snickered.

Gandalf, looking slightly irritated, swept down into a bow. Bilbo did the same.

“May I introduce Master Bilbo Baggins of The Shire.” Gandalf gestured to him.

“Boggins?” The blonde Dwarf perked up suddenly. “Did you say Boggins?”

The rest of the family were now inspecting him in a much more intense manner than before.

It was extremely uncomfortable.

Bilbo felt his nose wrinkle. “Baggins, actually, Your Highness,” he replied with as much politeness as he could muster. He glanced quickly at Gandalf, who just shrugged almost imperceptibly.  “Not Boggins.”

“Baggins,” the Dwarf said, “B _o_ ggins. B _a_ ggins. B _o_ ggins.” He looked rather thoughtful.

Bilbo frowned up at Gandalf, who looked rather amused by the whole situation.

“And you are from The Shire, you said?” Thrain asked now, ignoring his son.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Have you perhaps met any Dwarves before?” Thrain’s wife wanted to know.

“Well… yes, actually,” he replied. “But that was a very long time ago, My Lady.”

There was silence for some time, before King Thrain spoke again.

“Welcome to Erebor, Master Baggins, we’ll make sure you are well settled in before we meet for trade negotiations. Heimdal,” he waved to a stocky Dwarf just a few feet away from Bilbo, “please show our guests to our best Suite. You will join us for dinner.”

It was not a question, nor was it request.

“I would be more than happy to.” Bilbo replied, bowing again. He felt their eyes on him as he left. “Now what on Earth was that about?” he demanded, looking up at Gandalf the moment they were out of hearing range.

“I have no idea,” Gandalf replied, although he didn’t seem to be telling the truth, before quickening his step to catch up with Heimdal. Bilbo had to jog to keep up with their longer legs.

“I am sorry,” he puffed one he reached them, “would you very much mind if we could slow down? I’m afraid I can’t walk as fast as you.”

Heimdal inclined his head politely and slowed his pace. “Do you all have such large feet?” he wanted to know.

“Uh,” Bilbo glanced down at them now. “Yes. We do. I’ve never met another Hobbit with small feet before.”

“Huh,” Heimdal looked at them for a moment before looking back at the hall ahead of them. “This way.”

“I believe I know the way already, Master Heimdal,” Gandalf informed him. “I do have business within the city, though, so I will have to part with you here.” He turned to Bilbo. “I will come and find you later, Bilbo.” And then he was gone.

“Is he always like that?” Heimdal asked, frowning after him.

“The entire time I’ve known him I’ve never seen him stock still.” Bilbo replied, shrugging.

Heimdal grinned, and they continued on to the Guest Suites. “Here you go,” he pushed open the door to reveal the room Bilbo would be staying in. And _good_ _gracious_ , it was almost the size of his Hobbit Hole back in The Shire!

“Is it to your satisfaction, Master Hobbit?”

“My-well-I… Oh!” He wasn’t sure what to say. “It is very much so yes,” he nodded avidly. “It’s…” What was a fitting compliment? “Well, it’s certainly better than the rooms the Elves provided me.” Not entirely true, but that wasn’t the point.

Heimdal’s chest puffed out in pride, and he looked rather chuffed. “I will pass the compliment onto the King. He will surely enjoy that.”

Bilbo laughed at him now. “Well, thank you for showing me to my room. But, uh…”

“Yes, Master Baggins?”

“Oh, you can call me Bilbo. Please. We don’t really care about titles in The Shire.”

Heimdal was clearly surprised, but pleased at the suggestion that he use his first name. “Well, of course, Bilbo, if that is what you wish. What is it you wanted to ask?”

“Oh, yes. Is there something wrong with my name?”

“I’m sorry?” he looked perplexed at Bilbo’s question.

“It’s just,” Bilbo explained, “the reaction upon learning my name was… rather odd.”

“Well, it’s just that the King has heard all about you. In fact, mostly everyone in the Royal Court has,” Heimdal added with a smile. “It’s just we thought your name was Boggins. Not Baggins. Unless… there is another Boggins in The Shire?”

“No.” Bilbo shook his head, curls falling in his eyes. “Just me. I don’t think any other names even sound like Boggins, so I suppose it must have been me you heard about.” He found himself frowning now. “But… who told you about me? Gandalf?”

“No, no.” Heimdal shook his head, looking at Bilbo like he was very silly.

“Who, then?”

“The Prince, of course.”

“The _Prince_? Well, I’ve never met any Princes before now.”

Heimdal’s brow furrowed. “Well- I- I’m sorry, Mister Bilbo-”

“I think you must have the wrong person, Heimdal.” Bilbo cut him off gently. “That must be it.”

“Yes,” he nodded, more to himself than to Bilbo, “of course. I’ll leave you to get settled in, and I’ll return for you when the King has his dinner. If you need anything, there are guards just at the end of the hall.” He pointed in the direction, before stepping back. “It was nice to meet you, Mister Baggins.”

“Bilbo, please.”

“Bilbo,” Heimdal corrected with a small smile.

He left Bilbo to frown at the room. “This seems far too big to belong to one person.” He muttered to himself. “Why, you could fit ten people in here!” He set his pack down on the bed. “I could bring everything I own in The Shire here and still need more things to fill it up.” He scoffed now, taking out his waistcoats. “A Prince! Imagine that. _Me_ , meeting a Dwarven Prince.” He laughed. “If I ever did I’d probably end up embarrassing myself.” He thought about the last time he’d met a Dwarf, and sighed. “I will not let one experience with a blockheaded Dwarrow ruin all other Dwarrows for me. They seemed rather nice, apart from the staring. And the whole Boggins thing,” he added. “And The King invited me to _dine_ with him. Oh,” he lamented, looking down at the pile of clothes on the bed, “I didn’t bring my best trousers.”

 _Damn_.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys see any errors, feel free to point them out so I can fix them up!

Thorin had heard the whispers. They’d started when he was bringing Fili and Kili back from the sparring grounds with their father. Something about that Gandalf bringing a Hobbit. Thorin had rolled his eyes when Kili had turned to him with eager eyes after hearing that. What were the odds of that one Hobbit being the same he’d met in The Shire? There were many Hobbits in The Shire. It was highly unlikely. And he’d told Kili as much, who had visibly deflated at the logic.

He was more than used to the gossip about these things. It had been over twenty years now, and he’d accepted his reputation. It had been easier, of course, with the arrival of his Sister-Sons. There were now heirs to the Throne, and so Thrain was far more lenient with Thorin in his wishes to not marry, which had nothing to do with that blasted Boggins Hobbit. Not in the least. There was no way Thorin still dreamed about him and his eyes, or his quick smile, or his- _no_. He did not.

They saw Gandalf on their way back to the Royal Apartments, and paused for several minutes while Fili and Kili eagerly greeted The Wizard.

“Is it true you bought a Hobbit with you?” Fili asked.

Gandalf nodded. “I did, yes.”

“What is he like?” Kili wanted to know.

Gandalf paused for a moment, considering it. “He is a good Hobbit,” he answered eventually. “He is kind and has a great deal more to give than he believes. He is the best representative for The Shire your Grandfather the King could have asked for.”

“When do we get to see this Great Hobbit?” Vini wondered.

“At dinner,” Gandalf replied.

Kili brightened. “ _Really_?”

“Yes, Thrain invited him to dine with you tonight.”

“He did?” Thorin frowned, baffled. His father did not invite many people to dinner. It was a private, family affair. “He must have made one hell of an impression.”

Gandalf chuckled. “That he did, Prince Thorin. Now I’m afraid I must go, I have business to attend to.” They watched him go.

“Dinner with a Hobbit!” Kili said now, ecstatic. “Maybe he knows your Boggins, Uncle Thorin.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I doubt it, Kili. Now come, we need to get Oin to look at that gash on your arm. If we leave it any longer we might need to cut it off.”

He was joking of course, but Kili looked so concerned that Fili burst into fits of laughter at him. “So silly, nadad,” he smacked his brother on the back of the head. “He is jesting. Now come on,” he dragged Kili off towards the healing rooms.

“You ought not tease him like that,” Vini sighed now. “He is young and doesn’t know better.”

“He has to learn sometime,” Thorin replied simply. “Besides, soon enough he’ll have a beard, and will be chasing after other Dwarrows. He’ll need some sense for that.”

Vini looked uncomfortable at the thought. “Like they’re not hard enough to control already.”

Thorin chuckled. “Welcome to parenthood.”

“And what of you?” Vini asked as they began to walk again. “Do you ever plan on marrying? Yes, I know,” he put a hand up when Thorin opened his mouth, “you have no wish to yet. But perhaps you might meet someone. Or, if you ever feel brave enough, you could return to The Shire and find the little one you refuse to admit got under your skin.”

Thorin heaved a sigh. “And here I thought you weren’t the annoying one in the family.”

Vini laughed, slapping his shoulder. “You’re older now. You know better. I’m not as foolish as the others to believe you fell in love. But something happened. Something important that you couldn’t understand in your youth. And you can’t get it out of your head. It seems startlingly similar to what happened with your sister and I. Although I was smart enough to take it for what it was.”

“My One is not a Hobbit.” Thorin scoffed. “And if I one day decide to marry I will marry, Vini. But I have no wish to now.”

Vini politely let the subject drop, and they parted ways as they reached the Royal Apartments. “I will see you at dinner tonight, Thorin.”

Thorin nodded, continuing on down the hall towards his own room. He was almost there when a sound caught his ear.

“Oh, dear,” a small voice mused, sounding concerned. “I think I am well and truly lost now.” Thorin turned the corner to find a child wandering down the hall.

“Zu!” he called after the tiny thing, walking faster down the hall. “Children are not allowed in the-” the child turned now, and Thorin found that it was not, in fact, a child at all.  “Hobbit,” he said now, in surprise. And not just _any_ Hobbit. For all Thorin had said about slim chances, it seemed Fate had other plans. This was certainly the Boggins he’d met in The Shire. He was older now, and taller, his feet bigger and hairier, his hair longer. There were slight lines around his eyes- his _eyes_. They were even brighter than Thorin remembered, and they were wide now, looking at him in shock and confusion.

“ _Thorin_?”

Somehow, Thorin managed to remember to use his words, “I apologise,” he began now, voice gruff, “I thought you were a child.”

This was obviously not the correct thing to say, because the Hobbit’s eyes just narrowed.

“Do I look like a Dwarf child to you?” he demanded, sweeping his arms wide. “I have large feet and curly short hair and I don’t even have a beard- not that many children do, but that’s not the point. I don’t even _dress_ like a Dwarf.”

Thorin had remembered something about the babbling part, but right now he could do little more than simply stare at him.

Boggins frowned at him now. “You do recall me, don’t you? We met in The Shire. At least- I think it was you,” he looked like he was considering something. “Perhaps it was someone who looked like you,” he allowed after a moment.

“No,” Thorin shook his head. “That was me. I spent time there as a Smith.” And doing other things. Things that he felt vaguely ashamed for now that he stood in front of this particular Hobbit.

Boggins let out a _harrumph_. “I am very well aware of what you did on your visit to my home, Mister Thorin.”

Thorin felt himself colour slightly- not something he was used to doing at all. “I feel I ought to apologise for my behaviour, Master Boggins-”

“Oh, not you, too,” He looked even more irritated than he had before, which was… odd.

“I’m sorry?” Thorin asked, wondering what he’d done now.

“It’s _Baggins_ ,” he corrected now, “not Boggins. I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m a Boggins. Even the King-”

“The King?” Thorin repeated. “You met the King.” His shoulders sagged. “Of course you met the King,” he muttered to himself, pressing a hand to his face. “You met them all in the Royal Hall.”

“The Throne Room you mean?” Baggins asked. “Yes, I did. And I have to say it was a very odd experience. I’ve never met a King before, so I don’t have much experience, but I’m sure it wasn’t a normal meeting.”

“No,” Thorin sighed. “No, it probably wasn’t.”

“Are you a guard here then?” he eyed Thorin’s clothes. “You don’t look like a guard.”

“I was returning from the sparring grounds.” Thorin informed him, ignoring the question. “Perhaps I can show you back to your quarters, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo,” he sighed in return. “Call me Bilbo. This Master Baggins and Master Hobbit nonsense is giving me a headache. Where do we go to get back to the Suites?”

“This way,” Thorin led him in the opposite direction. “How did you even get here?”

“I thought I should have a look around,” Bilbo gave a shrug. “I got lost. Or,” he looked up a Thorin now, “did you mean how I got here in Erebor?”

“I heard that Gandalf was bringing a Hobbit as emissary to sort out trade routes with the King.”

“Yes,” Bilbo nodded. “That is why I’m here.”

Thorin came to a stop now.  “Are any of these your rooms?” he wondered.

Bilbo frowned at the doors, and Thorin tried not to think about the pleasant feeling he felt watching his lips pucker. “I think so,” he pushed open a door and looked inside. “Yes, yes, this is mine.”

“Would you mind if…” Thorin hesitated. “What I mean to say is, I would like to… talk.”

Bilbo looked uncomfortable. “Must you?” he asked, suddenly looking a bit desperate. “I mean, I was very young and it was a very silly thing to happen, and then you were gone and I was rather upset, but I understood-”

“The situation is complicated,” Thorin cut him off. “Please, it is best I tell you myself, rather than you getting a fright later.”

Bilbo looked confused, but opened the door further so Thorin could follow him inside. He took a seat on the bed and looked at him expectantly. “Go head, then,” he waved a hand at him to get on with it.

Thorin supposed an apology was the best place to start. “My behaviour towards you was… incorrigible and wrong. You were young, and I was irrational. I had… run away from my duties, you see, here in Erebor. I came to The Shire and… childishly, assumed that your pleasures were mine to indulge in.”

“I was rather foolish myself, as well.” Bilbo mused now. “I did not know about your reputation, your…” Bilbo’s nose wrinkled in distaste, “activities with others."

Usually Thorin would not be so… passive, so submissive. It was unbecoming of a future King. But this was Bilbo. A Hobbit had no care for what was unbecoming of royalty. Not that he even knew Thorin _was_ royalty.

He inhaled deeply before speaking again. “I have no real regrets of my time in The Shire,” he began, “apart from my actions towards you. I took something that was not mine to take, and then I left with no word. The other Hobbits I… was involved with,” that seemed like the best choice of words for now, “they understood. They were old enough to understand. I had foolishly assumed that you would understand as well.”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed and put his hands on his hips. “That is no excuse. You cannot simply take something whenever you want it and discard of it like trash when you wish.”

“I was not a pleasant Dwarrow in my youth,” Thorin informed him. “I have no wish to argue with you, Bilbo. I agree with your words entirely, and I will, with every fibre of my being, work to make it up to you.”

Bilbo looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“What do you mean, 'why'?”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t quite believe you’ve learned the error of your ways. I’m not that naive anymore. So what else is there?”

“There is something else,” Thorin agreed, “but it has nothing to do with my apologising to you. I will prove to you that my words are true and that my apology was nothing but sincere.”

Bilbo waited.

“And,” he continued, “I believe it would be better if we got along. For my family’s sake.”

“What do you mean?”

Thorin had a little trouble working the next words out. “King Thrain is my father.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Yelling perhaps. But absolute silence was not on his list of possible reactions. Bilbo’s mouth fell open wordlessly and worked a little, as if he were trying to get his own words out but could not.

“That is what I meant when I told you I was running from my duties here in Erebor,” Thorin went on. “That does not make my behaviour excusable; in fact, I think it most likely makes it worse. But I thought you should know from me rather than-”

“What?” Bilbo asked, finding his words now. “Entering the room at dinner and just seeing you?”

“Well, yes.”

Bilbo did not look pleased. He snapped his mouth shut, exhaling loudly through his nose, and looked at the wall. “Your family knew me.”

Thorin shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “They did, yes.”

“So you told them about me? Why? What do they know?”

“They know I met a Hobbit name Baggins. Well… Boggins, actually, but that’s not the point. I came across Gandalf sometime after I came back, and he mentioned he’d been through The Shire, and I’d asked him if perhaps he knew you.”

“You were asking after me?”

Thorin nodded, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “I did. He said he knew no ‘Boggins’, and now I see that he was referring to the act that I had misconstrued your name.” Blasted Wizard.

“That’s why everyone knows me as Boggins.”

He nodded again. “They, uh… there are rumours.”

A furious look came over his face. “Do they know about it? About what happened?”

“No, no, _Mahal_ , no. I would never… impugn you so. I enjoyed your company, Bilbo, very much so. That was all I shared with them.”

Bilbo didn’t seem to believe it, but he let it drop. “So, what?” he asked. “I am to pretend we are old friends?”

“You needn’t do anything of the such.” Thorin informed him. “You can openly loathe me if that is what you wish. I just… I thought you ought to be prepared.”

“ _Hmph_ ,” Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest. “So you apologise to get me in your good graces so I don’t tell you father about your… bandying about the town, diving under skirts and down breeches, is that it?”

“I understand that you do not believe me in the slightest, but let me emphatically assure you that that is certainly not the case. I did not know it was you until I saw you in the hall.”

He was still unimpressed, but appeared to be a little calmer. “I will not tell your family. Not for your sake but for mine. I wish to have my dignity intact when I leave here.” There words were intended to jar, and they did. “I will be amiable with you. But do not expect me to forgive you, Thorin the Deceiver.” Thorin did not like that title, obviously. But he figured it was a title he deserved until he could change Bilbo’s impression of him. “A Baggins is very good at holding a grudge.”

Thorin inclined his head politely. “I will do my best to fix that,” he promised. “You have my word as Crown Prince.”

“Crown Prince,” Bilbo scoffed now. But he looked more amused than annoyed. “I can’t believe it.”

“It is a bit ridiculous,” Thorin agreed. “I will leave you now, Bilbo. If there is anything you need, anything at all-”

“You leaving is enough,” Bilbo informed him.

Thorin repressed a sigh. “I will see you at supper.”

 _Well_ , he thought as he closed the door behind him. _That went much better than I thought it would_.

He had apologised, and Bilbo had allowed him to speak, even insisted that he use his first name, which was a good enough sign. It was a start, at the very least.

Thorin returned to his room, trying not to think about bright eyes and nimble fingers and ignoring the slight twinge in his chest.

“ _My One is not a Hobbit_ ,” he told himself over and over.

It had become something of a mantra for him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zu: you


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo spent most of his afternoon hitting his head against the wall of his room, chanting: _“No, no, no, no, why, why, why, why?”_

He was a good Hobbit, after all. He was kind to others, he spent his days gardening and cooking rather than in the Green Dragon, drinking like some of the less reputable characters did. He was even polite to Lobelia, which was a _monumental_ task. So why was he being punished?

“I have to be nice to him, don’t I,” he grumbled to himself, getting changed and ready for dinner. “He’s the Crown Prince. He could have my head off it he wanted to.”

And so he had apologised, so what? Bilbo knew nothing of him, nothing at all. How could he tell if it was sincere or not? Besides, Dwarves were stubborn, they did not change their minds often, nor did they realise the errors of their ways.

But he did know a Dwarrow apologising was a rare thing. He’d read a lot about Dwarves on the way here, in the books Gandalf had given him. An apology was not something to be taken lightly when it came from a Dwarf.

Which was why he hadn’t accosted Thorin the way he wished to. He’d gotten mad, yes, but he hadn’t yelled the way he’d always thought he would if he ever saw him again. It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all that he could direct those eyes onto Bilbo, look so genuine and earnest and remorseful, and say he was regretful, and Bilbo had almost leapt at him. His stomach had flipped, his heart had clenched, and he was all but a few seconds away from rubbing up against him like some sort of cat, needy for attention.

He groaned, falling onto the bed and burying his face into the pillows.

“He isn’t a good Dwarf, Bilbo Baggins,” he scolded himself now. “You know that. You learnt your lesson with him long ago. _A Dwarf is bad news, a handsome Dwarf, even more so_. What kind of a respectable creature beds the whole town? No good Man or Dwarf of Elf or Hobbit takes advantage of another and breaks their heart.”

 Not that Thorin knew he’d broken Bilbo’s heart. Bilbo had almost told him, but he’d choked on the words, thankfully enough, and buried them, opting for the more favourable choice of anger.

“ _A Dwarf if bad news, a handsome Dwarf, even more so._ ” He repeated, inhaling deeply and rolling onto his back. “You can do this. You _need_ to do this. You will live through the week, sort of an agreement with the King, and leave for Hobbiton with your head held high.”

He sat up.

“You will not fall prey to pretty eyes and charming words. A clever tongue is the most deceiving thing you can place your trust in.” He got to his feet and headed for the door. “Even if age has treated him well,” he muttered in an afterthought before pulling open the door. The guards turned at the end of the hall and nodded to him.

Heimdal was waiting a few feet away. “Bilbo,” he greeted politely.

“Good evening,” Bilbo returned. “Shall we go?”

Heimdal swept a hand out and began to walk. “The room is to your satisfaction?” He asked again.

“It was a few hours ago and it still is now,” Bilbo assured him. “Are you Head Guard, Heimdal?” he wondered now, watching the other guards nod at him respectfully.

“Oh, no,” Heimdal replied, grinning. “I’m close enough to it, but Dwalin son of Fundin is the Head Guard. Good friends with the Princes and Princess.”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the mention of Thorin. “I suppose you have to have good connections if you’re the Head Guard,” he said now.

Heimdal laughed. “Yes, that is true. Dwalin’s brother Balin is Royal Advisor to The King. He’d been advisor to Thror as well, during his rule.”

“Impressive family,” he mused.

“Aye,” Heimdal agreed. “They are. And a fearsome bunch to behold. They fought in the battles for Moria when I was just a wee lad.”

“Well, I’m sure if you were old enough, Heimdal, you would have fought bravely as well.”

“You sure know how to compliment a Dwarf, Mister Bilbo,” Heimdal told him now as they came to a stop at a set f very large, intricately carved doors. Heimdal bowed at the Dwarf who stood in front of them. “Balin,” he greeted.

Balin nodded at Heimdal, before turning his attention onto Bilbo. “I suppose this is the Hobbit that is to dine with the King tonight.”

“Yes, Master Balin.”

Balin turned to the door, opening it and leaning in. “Master Baggins, Your Highness.”

“Send him in,” came the reply.

Balin nudged the doors open wider and gestured for him to go through.

“Thank you, Mister Balin,” he turned to Heimdal. “I do hope we see each other again soon, Mister Heimdal.”

“I’ll make sure of it, Mister Bilbo,” Heimdal informed him, stepping away.

Bilbo carefully made his way into the room, unsure what to expect.

It was rather plain, surprisingly, not decorated with jewels or gold or tapestries. The furniture looked comfortable and often used, a cheery fire blazed on the other side of the room where a few chairs were set in front of it. A table (long, but not ridiculously so as the tables in the food halls were) sat in the middle of the room, laden with food. It was nice, unperturbed, _cosy_.

Bilbo found Thrain sitting at the head of the table. “Your Highness,” he gave a half-bow.

Thrain looked amused. “You are early, Mister Bilbo. Please, take a seat while we wait for my children to arrive.” He gestured at the chair closest to him. Bilbo was certain there was some sort of meaning behind it, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Thank you,” he said, gratefully sitting down.

“I hear you saw one of our sons,” Thrain said conversationally, waving for a servant to fill up Bilbo’s goblet.

Bilbo’s gaze snapped up at him, but he was smiling softly. “Uh, yes, I did, Your Highness,” he answered now, “although I did not know he was your son until our meeting here.”

“Yes, we thought as much.” Thrain looked amused. “And please, you don’t have to bother with that Your Highness nonsense when we’re alone. That sort of thing is saved only for the pompousness of the Royal Halls.”

Bilbo found himself smiling now. “I understand.”

The doors burst open again, and in darted two young Dwarrows, looking eager. “I heard Boggins was here?!” the dark haired one had begun saying even before he’d stepped fully through the door. He caught sight of Bilbo and his eyes sparked. “Mister Boggins!” He all but threw himself into Bilbo’s chair, grabbing his hand.

Bilbo had to admit, it was the most alarming thing he’d ever experienced.

“Oh, I, uh… hello.” He allowed his hand to be crushed.

“Kili,” a female voice scolded from the doorway. Kili dared off Bilbo’s lap, looking guilty. “You ought to behave more politely with our guest.” It was the woman he’d seen in the Throne Room earlier today, the one who had been smirking at the blonde Dwarf.

“Bilbo,” Thrain began, waving a hand at the three at the door, “this is my daughter Dis, and her sons and the heirs to my throne, Fili and Kili. You’ll excuse their behaviour,” he added now, smiling further, “they are quite young and we are still teaching them manners.”

“Of course,” Bilbo replied as they took their seats.

“Where is Vini?” Thrain wondered, directing his gaze at Dis.

“He is with Frerin, no doubt causing trouble,” she returned with a shrug, “They’ll be by soon to get a better look at our Hobbit friend, I’m sure.” She gave Bilbo a curious look. “I assume my brother apologised to you, then?”

“Apologised?” Bilbo felt his stomach tighten. Thorin had said the others hadn’t known, so how did Dis…?

“Well, I was told his departure as sudden when he left The Shire,” she explained. “He had no time to say goodbyes.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I mean- no, he didn’t say any goodbyes. But we weren’t… too well known to each other, you understand. I’d only seen him a few times. I have to admit, we didn’t part last on the best of terms.”

“Oh?” Dis looked intrigued.

“It was just a small misunderstanding,” Bilbo rushed to explain. If by _small_ you meant a stupid Hobbit thinking that sex meant love and getting his heart broken, then yes. A small misunderstanding.

“But it is all sorted out now?” Thrain asked him.

“Uh… yes,” he lied.

Thrain apparently saw through it, too, though he was kind enough not to bring it up. He just raised an eyebrow and turned back to his meal. “You may eat whatever you wish, Mister Bilbo,” he said instead, gesturing at the feasts in front of him.

“Thank you, and just Bilbo, please.” His mouth was watering at the idea of eating all of this. He was certain every meat known to man was on the table, though he noted there were very little vegetables, and he guessed that the ones that were here were for his benefit only.

His plate was soon filled with meats and breads and cheeses and his goblet almost overflowing with wine.

“This is a tremendous meal you’ve provided,” Bilbo told them while he ate. “We usually have this sort of thing only for big celebrations.”

“Every meal is a feast for us,” Thrain explained as the door opened again. “Ah, look who has finally arrived.”

“Sorry, father,” the blonde one apologised, looking much like Kili with his guilty face. Bilbo kept his gaze pointedly away from the other two, as to avoid Thorin’s gaze. “Two guards were fighting; we were helping Dwalin break it up.” His gaze turned to Bilbo now, and he gave a polite smile. “I see our guest has arrived already.”

“Yes, Frerin,” Dis replied dryly, “he is more prompt than the three of you.”

The one Bilbo did not know (the one that was neither Thorin nor Frerin), strolled over to Dis’ side now, and took a seat. He said something to her, so quiet that Bilbo could not catch it, but Dis smiled at him with such warmth that Bilbo decided he must be Fili and Kili’s father.

Thorin and Frerin took seats on the side of the table opposite to Bilbo, which made him more uncomfortable.

“Tell us about the Shire, if you will,” Dis said after a moment of silent eating. “Thorin has been most greedy in his keeping of information.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, but his smile remained in place.

“Do you really live in holes in the ground?” Kili wanted to know, leaning so far over the table he was almost crushing food in his attempt to catch Bilbo’s attention.

“Well, yes,” Bilbo answered. “But they’re not just ordinary holes in the ground. They’re cosy little burrows, with various well-stocked and warm rooms, comfortable furniture and plenty of food.”

“How much food?” Fili wanted to know.

“Well, most Hobbit’s keep their pantries completely stocked with all sorts of things. And we grow our own vegetables, though- I’ve noticed Dwarves are not all that fond of such things,” he gestured at Kili now, who had his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Did you say pantri _es_?” Dis asked, frowning. “As in _plural_?”

“Oh, yes. Most Hobbit Holes have two pantries, but mine has three, due to its size.”

“And they’re all completely stocked, you said?” Frerin was looking at him curiously.

Bilbo nodded. “We eat quite a lot, you’ll find. Around seven meals a day. I’ve been told that is rather odd.”

“Indeed it is,” Thrain hummed. “You have an abundance of food, then, I suppose?”

Not a man to dally about business, then, it seemed. “We have prosperous fields. The land we live on is very fertile, and provides plenty for us. I would not have been sent here if our fields were not plentiful.”

He supposed that might have sounded condescending, in a way, because Thrain raised an eyebrow at him, and Frerin choked off a laugh into his tankard. “I suppose so, yes,” Thrain agreed carefully. “But we will talk to business later. Tell us about your feet.”

Frerin snorted louder this time, choking on his drink.

Bilbo glanced down at his feet under the table now. “Well… we do not wear shoes, you see. We do not need them. Our feet are tough and the hair over them keeps us warm in the colder seasons. They’re very important,” he went on now, “it’s how we know the mark of a good Hobbit. I suppose it’s like your beards.”

“Huh,” Frerin looked slightly impressed. “That kind of makes sense.”

“It doesn’t to me,” Kili looked confused.

“Well,” Bilbo told him, “we can’t grow beards, so the hair on our feet more than makes up for it.”

Fili and Kili burst into laughter.

After that the meal went quite well. Bilbo was barraged by all sorts of questions, which he didn’t really mind, and no one brought up Bilbo’s relationship to Thorin in The Shire, so he figured he could count that as a win as well.

Frerin offered to show him back to his room on the pretence that he wanted to hear more about Hobbit culture, but Bilbo was pretty sure it was just to annoy Thorin, who seemed irked at the idea of his brother spending time around Bilbo. Amusing in a very annoying sort of way seeing as out of the two of them Thorin was certainly the more corrupted one.

Bilbo kindly accepted just to annoy Thorin even more.

Thorin was frowning at him as he left, so Bilbo mirrored the look and shot it back at him.

Frerin was most amused. “Lover’s quarrel?” he asked as they walked.

Bilbo bristled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he relied stiffly.

Frerin grinned. “Alright, then.” They walked in silence until they reached the Guest Suites. “You ought to come riding with me tomorrow when you’ve done with your negotiations with father.”

“I’m not a very good rider…” Bilbo replied, dubious.

“Oh, you’ll be fine!” Frerin waved it off. “I’ll be in Dale for most of the day- but we’re all planning on going after lunch, so you’re welcome to join us. Do you know where the stables are?”

Bilbo nodded. “If you don’t mind… I’m just a little slow, that’s all.”

“Fili and Kili are, too,” Frerin assured him. “And Vini rides like an old man.” He laughed now. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bilbo.”

Then he gave a bow and was off, cheerily swaggering back down the hall and past the guards.

Bilbo sighed as he let himself into his room.

“Well,” he huffed, falling onto the pillows in exhaustion, “that could have gone worse.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frerin is like #swagyolomotherfuckers and... now I feel dirty because I used to words 'swag' and 'yolo'. Just pretend you never read this, please.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any errors, let me know!

Bilbo had no idea what he was doing, but somehow he managed to get through and entire session of negotiation with Thrain, who appeared to be more than generous. At least, in Bilbo’s opinion he was.

It was hard at first, because Hobbit’s didn’t really want lots of gold or trinkets (unless you included the Sackville-Bagginses in that) but eventually they settled on aid from the Dwarves during the Fell Winter when the wolves attacked (which was something the Thain had insisted be part of the deal), as well as a little bit of gold for their troubles.

Bilbo scribbled a quick letter to the Thain afterwards, detailing the arrangements, and what they needed to do before winter hit, and then, after giving it to a messenger, he went to find the stables.

It wasn’t hard to find, although he did have to ask a few people for directions. But they smiled and were nice enough, so it wasn’t too much of a hardship.

He saw Frerin first- it was the hair. He was laughing while saddling a pony, chatting to Dis’ husband, who had to be Vini. Fili and Kili were throwing rocks at each other, which didn’t actually surprise Bilbo at all.

He hesitated at the edge of the stables, hovering a few feet away, until someone caught sight of him.

“Bilbo!” Kili grinned and ran over, Fili hot on his heels. They both looked delighted. “Good to see you’ve decided to join us!”

“Well, your Uncle Frerin offered, and it seemed like a fair idea. I need to practice my riding skills anyway, so…” he waved vaguely at the ponies. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Well, we’ll be delighted,” Vini informed him with a smile. “Come on, we’ll get your horse saddled.”

Saddling Mungo was far easier than it had been the first time he’d attempted it, but he supposed that was Vini’s experience, and not Bilbo’s own skill.

When they had everything done they set out for the road towards Dale, and then further down, taking the roads towards Laketown.

“We won’t actually go through Laketown,” Vini explained as they fell far behind the others. “Frerin will probably lead us in a circle through the woods and we’ll come out near Dale again. I wouldn’t panic too much, if I were you,” he continued, following Bilbo’s gaze to where the others were in the distance, “they like to get ahead of themselves. Everything’s a race,” he rolled his eyes.

 Bilbo tried to relax a little.

“So,” Vini said casually now, actively working to make Bilbo uncomfortable, “you knew Thorin in The Shire, then?”

Bilbo nodded. “I did, yes.”

“How did you two meet?”

“He was the smith. We have a few other forgers in The Shire, but he was the best.” Though he knew that wasn’t the reason he was so popular. He repressed a scornful cough, and reminded himself that he was not a jealous Hobbit. “He was very much liked, which is surprising.”

“Surprising how?” Vini wanted to know.

“We don’t always take to strangers too kindly,” Bilbo explained. “But Thorin was charming, and rather attractive, and he didn’t seem to find it difficult to win over even the more stubborn Hobbits. I don’t even think he realised he was doing it, either.”

“Your people were fond of him, then?”

“That’s one word for it,” Bilbo found himself muttering.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” he rushed to say. “Nothing at all.”

Vini didn’t appear convinced. “I’ve been told my brother-in-law was rather… _voracious_ in his younger years,” he said now, voice low even though no one was near enough to them to hear. “He’s better now, though, you know,” Vini went on when he received no reply. “He stopped all that when he came back from The Shire, which is why everyone’s so curious about you. He never did say much about his time there, but Frerin did overhear him talking about a Baggins- or, well _Boggins_. Rumours spread, but I suppose you can’t help that. And his resolve in not marrying, well, that didn’t help.”

“Are you saying that your family-in-law thinks I was involved with Thorin?”

“Were you?”

Bilbo spluttered. “Not like _that_. It… it’s complicated.”

Vini just shrugged. “I’m not one to gossip, Mister Bilbo,” he informed him. “I am simply curious.”

Bilbo sighed. “It was more a hopelessly besotted situation,” he explained, a little embarrassed. “And I was silly and Thorin wasn’t very nice. Let’s just say that.”

“But you’ve forgiven each other?”

“I have not forgiven him, no.” He paused before continuing, “I don’t believe what he says.”

“I can cuff him over the back of the head, if you’d like,” Vini offered, making Bilbo laugh. “But I was right, wasn’t I? About the voraciousness.”

“Yes,” Bilbo answered, not bothering to lie about it, “he was. Like I said, he was very popular.” He rolled his eyes. “I should have known better.” He glanced at him, guiltily. “You won’t share this with anyone, will you?”

“Believe me, I’m something of a confessional when it comes to this family,” he jerked his chin in the direction of his sons. “You have no idea. But he likes you, I’m sure of it. He was moping all afternoon before dinner and he didn’t even touch anything when we all sat down to eat. You may not have started out on the right foot, but maybe you could change that now.”

“Hard when I’ve sworn to loathe him for the rest of my life.”

Vini chuckled. “You’re certainly stubborn enough for him.”

Bilbo found himself laughing, too.

“Come on!” Kili’s call was barely heard over the wind. “Hurry up, you two!”

They urged their ponies to move a little faster, much to Bilbo’s dismay, but Vini was there to make sure he didn’t fall off, so he felt a lot more confident.

Bilbo liked Vini.

The rest of the ride was quite relaxing and not at all tense, which was an enjoyable surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. He’d been worried about his lack of skill, but the others were wonderfully helpful and not at all condescending about his inexperience. He chuckled to himself all the way back, imagining how the Hobbits of The Shire would have reacted if they’d seen him now.

“What’s that, Mister Baggins?” Kili asked him, upon noticing his amusement.

“Oh, I was just thinking about how my family back home would react to the things I’m doing now. I’d be quite the scandal.”

Kili seemed confused, but let it slide. “What was Uncle Thorin like when he was young?” he asked instead.

“He was certainly more talkative,” Bilbo replied, thinking about it. “And very charming. Although I suppose he could still be now if he wanted to be.” He could hear Frerin having trouble repressing laughter. “I didn’t know him all that well, though.” He added, as an afterthought.

Kili opened his mouth, like he was going to say something to the contrary, but Fili reached over, smacking him on the arm. They shared a look, and Fili frowned, shaking his head. Kili looked confused, but did not speak.

Bilbo supposed they thought they were being subtle, so he did not bring it up. He just looked over his shoulder at Vini with a raised eyebrow.

Vini shrugged.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was stalking the guest halls when Bilbo came back to his room later that afternoon. He looked agitated.

“What did I do now?” Bilbo asked cautiously, coming to a stop in front of his door.

Thorin jumped, turning to look at him. “I didn’t see you come up the hall,” he said, almost accusingly.

“Well, you seemed to be lost in your own world, and I’ll have you know us Hobbit can be very quiet when we want to be.” It had been a heated defence, but Thorin seemed amused by it.

“My apologies,” he seemed slightly more relaxed now. “You have done nothing wrong. I am simply here to talk.”

Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest, taping one foot expectantly. “And?”

Thorin huffed a laugh, shaking his head now. “You are stubborn,” he muttered, more to himself than to Bilbo. “I am here to invite you to dinner again. Thrain very much enjoyed your company. I-well, we all did.”

Bilbo thought about it for a moment. “I suppose,” he said eventually, “that I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Thorin grinned. “Not really,” he answered. “No.”

“Then I shall see you at dinner then, Prince Thorin.” He gave a elaborate bow, before walking into his room and shutting the door behind him in Thorin’s face.

He could hear laughter echo down the hall and through the walls as Thorin walked away, and couldn’t help but smile a little himself.

 

* * *

 

The next morning he was shown about the libraries by one of the scribes who worked there. And they were the most splendorous, amazing thing Bilbo had ever seen in his life. Books lined the walls high into the air, and scriptures and parchments were set about neatly on tables.

Now Bilbo’s book collection at home had been rather large, but this… this was _enormous_.

“I can’t believe you have so much,” he murmured, more to himself than to Ori, fingers running over the spines. “I’ve never seen so many before.”

“We have the largest library of any Dwarven Kingdom,” Ori explained cheerfully. “Although, I have to admit,” he leant in, as if whispering a secret, “the Elves have more than we do.”

His lips twitched in amusement. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Well, we wouldn’t admit it to their faces, would we?”

Bilbo barked out a laugh.

“How nice you’ve finally come to Erebor.” Ori went on now, babbling slightly as he happily peered through the scriptures on the desk beside them. “Everyone’s been whispering about the Prince’s One since he came back. It was all very depressing, like one of those love stories the Elves are so fond of writing.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Bilbo managed to choke out.

Ori looked up, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Did you just call me his-?”

“Excuse me,” the voice came from behind them suddenly, cutting him off.

They turned, surprised, and found Dwalin, the Kingsguard, waiting patiently for their attention.

“Mister Dwalin!” Ori sighed now, rather breathless. Red began to stain his cheeks.

“Ori,” Dwalin replied gruffly. “I’m here for Bilbo.”

“Oh,” Ori looked slightly disappointed. “Of course. Yes.”

Bilbo watched the conversation curiously, one eyebrow raised. Dwalin cleared his throat and turned to Bilbo. “Mister Bilbo, Princess Dis requires your presence. She is at the sparrin’ grounds with her husband, I’m to show you.”

“Ah, well, certainly.” He gestured at Dwalin. “Lead the way.”

Dwalin gave Ori a short half-bow before turning on his heel and leaving. Bilbo followed him, but pointed a curious gaze to Ori as he went, which only served to deepen his blush. Bilbo found it all most amusing.

Though his amusement was short lived. A _One_? He knew the rumours about Thorin’s time in The Shire, and he’d known, as Thorin had said, that their… friendship (for lack of a better word) had been exaggerated greatly. But a _One_? He couldn’t pretend to be someone’s One. How utterly preposterous, not to mention how painfully wrong it was. Ones were held in such a high respect with Dwarves, Bilbo knew that. Hell, everyone knew that. People did not simply pretend to be each other’s Ones. It was far too serious for all that.

Even worse, did Thorin _know_? Did he know what everyone else believed, or had he been under the impression that Bilbo had? And what on Earth was he supposed to do now?

He would not willingly pretend to be Thorin’s one just to placate his family. The _horror_ of the idea. He had to talk to Thorin about it.

But later. For now a thought had occurred to him.

“Where is Gandalf?” He hadn’t seen him these past few days.

“Tharkûn?” Dwalin asked with a frown. He glanced at Bilbo from over his shoulder. “No idea,” he shrugged his big shoulders.

“You mean no one’s seen him?” No one at all?

Dwalin seemed unconcerned. “Well, I haven’t.”

“And I suppose that’s normal, is it?” He paused for a moment, before belatedly adding: “for Gandalf anyway?”

Dwalin gave a grin. “Aye,” he agreed. “It is for him.”

“I guess he’ll find me when he needs me. Or when we leave.”

“And when is t’at?”

“The leaving date is at the end of this week, but with Gandalf…” he vaguely waved his arms about, “you never know.”

“Well, yer welcome here as long as you want to be.”

“That is very kind, Mister Dwalin.”

“Not my kindness you should be thankin’, Mister Bilbo.”

They fell into silence for some time, Bilbo struggling to keep up with Dwalin’s long paces. “So you’re Head Guard, are you?”

“I am.”

Very talkative, this one. “How long have you been doing that for?”

“Thirty years.”

“Oh.” He’d forgotten about the whole age thing. “Right. Well. Is it rude to ask how old you are?”

Dwalin snorted in amusement. “Probably.” But he didn’t reply to Bilbo’s question.

He sighed. “How about Ori?”

“What about him?” Dwalin’s voice turned suspicious, and he levelled a slightly murderous look towards Bilbo.

“Well, he seems nice, if a little young. I didn’t know you took scribes until they were of age.”

Dwalin relaxed a little. “He’s in training. He started very young, because of his talent.” There was a pause, before: “And he’s of age.” He sounded slightly defensive.

Bilbo, although he felt the need to prod perhaps a little further, if only to tease for his own amusement, but the look on Dwalin’s face made him pause. “You two seem to get along well.”

Dwalin glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Do we?”

“Oh, yes. He seemed very eager to see you.”

“You think?” He looked pleased at the idea.

“Oh, yes.” Bilbo said again. “Very much so.”

Dwalin gave something similar to a smile before turning the corner. Bilbo looked down to hide his own smile.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dis was at the sparring grounds, like Dwalin had said, standing on the edge of the field, wiping down her face. Frerin stood beside her, frowning at her. His face was red, and not just from exertion. Bilbo could see the outlines of bruises beginning to form.

“It’s not my fault you’re terrible at sparring,” Dis was saying conversationally when he approached them. “Even a fauntling could beat you.”

“You cheated.” Frerin was insisting.

“You were the one who resorted to biting.” Dis shot back.

Bilbo shuffled a few feet away. “Uh, I’m sorry to interrupt…” he began, catching their attention. Both the siblings turned to him, smiling.

“Bilbo! How good of you to come.” Dis walked forward, slipping an arm through his and pulling him forward. “Have you been to the sparring grounds before?”

“No,” Bilbo shook his head, allowing himself to be pulled to a stop beside Frerin. “I have not.”

“Well, they are the best in all the lands,” Dis announced, and Bilbo watched her in amusement. “Don’t let those snotty Iron Hills Dwarves tell you otherwise.”

“I certainly won’t, Your Highness.”

Dis laughed at him. “Call me Dis, please. You and my brother are close, so that means you and I are close. And I suppose you can be close to Frerin, as well, although I would warn you that it’s a silly idea.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Frerin wanted to know.

“You got into a fight with a barmaid last week.”

Frerin just shrugged. “So?”

Dis rolled her eyes. “She won.”

Bilbo, bless him, couldn’t help it. He laughed, suddenly and loudly, throwing his head back.

“See?” Dis looked at her brother. “Even Bilbo thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Oh, enough.” Frerin smacked her shoulder. “Your husband is preparing to woo you, you ought to pay attention.”

Bilbo followed the direction he was pointing in to find Vini walking onto the field, frowning down in concentration at the sword in his hands. “You going to stand in there all day doing your hair?” he called back into the armoury, not looking up. “Or are you going to come out and do some fighting?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” the voice replied, and one Bilbo was quite familiar with. Thorin stepped out now, a weapon of his own in his hand.

“They’re going to fight?” Bilbo asked, even though it was completely obvious what was going on.

“Yes, indeed,” Frerin replied. “They’re on the same level, more oft than not, so they liked to fight a lot to see which ones better.”

“We thought Thorin could use some moral support.” Dis explained, pulling him slightly closer, as if to whisper a secret. “He’s lost the last hundred times.”

Frerin snorted. “You always were prone to hyperbole.”

“This coming from the King of Theatrics,” Dis retorted, rolling her eyes. “When they’re done, I’m sure my sons will be more than happy to entertain you with their skills. Fili is very good with a sword, but Kili is far better with a bow.”

“Do Hobbits fight?” Frerin cut in before Bilbo could formulate a reply to Dis’ sentence.

“I-well- We don’t… I mean, we don’t really…”

“Do you have a weapon of choice?” Dis wondered.

“Well, I’m rather good at Conkers, if you must know.”

“ _Conker_?” Frerin frowned. “What is a Conker? Is it some kind of mace?”

“I- a _mace_?” Bilbo laughed. “No, not at all. Hobbits do not fight. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

“Not so much, no.” Frerin informed him. “Thorin was rather greedy with his information about Hobbits. He refused to tell us much at all.”

“Oh.” He wondered why. But before he could speculate, Vini and Thorin began to get ready to fight. “How does the sparring work?”

“Well, it’s fairly simple. If Thorin kills Vini, he wins, and if Vini kills Thorin, he wins.”

Bilbo stared at him for some time, trying to gauge whether he was joking or not. Frerin laughed.

“Relax, Bilbo. No one’s killing anyone. The loser will yield before it gets to that.” He paused. “Usually.”

Surprisingly, the statement made him feel slightly better, but only slightly.

It was all very quite impressing. There was a lot of swinging, and that horrible grating noise the swords made when they struck together, and Dis named each move they made, though Bilbo didn’t remember any of them. Thorin looked on the verge of winning, and after lunging, only narrowly missing Vini’s armour, Vini leant in and told him something quietly, a smug grin on his face. It seemed to distract Thorin enough to allow Vini to slam into his shoulder, making him drop his sword. Not that the fight was over. Of course not.

“Thorin still hasn’t yielded, Frerin explained when Bilbo asked in confusion why they hadn’t stopped. “And fights can go on when the swords have been struck away.”

Bilbo watched Thorin wrestle Vini into the ground face-first.

“Okay, alright, I yield!” He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Please, no more pummeling my face into the ground.”

“It’s the only thing he’s got!” Frerin called out, and Dwalin choked a laugh on the other side of the field.

“Amusing coming from you,” Vini managed, getting to his knees. Thorin offered a hand. “Thanks.”

“What did you think, Bilbo?” Dis wanted to know.

“Uh, well… very impressive.” It was more of a question than a statement, but it seemed to placate her enough.

“Did you hear that, brother?” Frerin called to Thorin now. “Bilbo’s very impressed.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Anyone who can wave a sword with some coordination impresses me.”

Dwalin and Vini burst into laughter.

“We’ll have to teach you, then.” Frerin slammed a hand down on his back, making him wince. “Can’t have you wandering around with no fighting skills.” He didn’t move his hand, and the heat of it was starting to burn into Bilbo’s back, making him uncomfortable. He looked up over his shoulder, confused, and found Frerin grinning in Thorin’s direction.

“Uh, you said something about your sons fighting soon?” Bilbo asked Dis, trying to diffuse the suddenly confusingly tense atmosphere.

“Yes, they- ah, speak of the Devil.”

Bilbo followed her gaze to the other side of the field where Fili and Kili were, pushing and shoving each other as they got ready.

Their skills were a lot cruder than their father’s, but they were certainly far better than Bilbo could ever hope to be, so he wasn’t exactly in a position to criticise.

He clapped when Fili wrestled his brother onto the ground, sitting on him for good measure. “Very good!”

Fili looked up at him proudly. “Of course,” he replied. “Kili’s never won against me yet.”

Kili rolled his eyes, pushing at his brother. “Get off me, would you?”

Fili made a face quite similar to his brothers, before getting to his feet. “You’re just upset that you didn’t impress Mister Bilbo.”

Kili pouted like a child. “Shut up,” he whined.

“You were both very good,” Bilbo insisted. “Certainly better than anyone in The Shire.”

Kili seemed pleased enough by that that he stopped sulking.

“I wouldn’t be too proud,” Thorin told him as they made their way back to the main halls, “no one in The Shire fights. At all.”

“You’re just upset because Bilbo didn’t say that _you_ were good.”

Vini choked back a laugh.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was in a cranky mood. Anyone who knew him could tell just by looking at him. Everyone else, of course, just surmised that he was the same as he always was: stoic, serious, unmoving. But those who knew better could see the frustrated glint to his eye, the huff of annoyance under his breath that he let out occasionally. His posture was even tenser than it always was, his brow furrowed even more so than usual.

“Bilbo has been looking for you,” he informed Gandalf, after happening upon him in the library, where Thorin had been to borrow a book and not at all to find Bilbo.

“Bilbo?” Gandalf gave an amused smile. “I didn’t realise the both of you were on a first-name basis.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, refusing to be baited any more than he already had been today. The training was hard enough with Bilbo watching him, but Frerin and his ridiculous grin as he loitered a little too close to Bilbo for Thorin’s liking had struck him into an even fouler mood. Fouler than he would have been had he lost. “He said he hadn’t seen you in some time.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Gandalf frowned in concentration. “I assumed he’d do his own thing until we were ready to leave.”

Ah, yes. The leaving date. The one edging closer and closer with each passing minute. It left a stretching feeling in Thorin’s stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. He hadn’t even made amends with Bilbo, like he’d promised. A week was far too short a time for that sort of thing. He needed more time. But time was a mistress that waited for no Dwarrow.

He sighed. “You will speak to him, though?” he asked. “I think he was slightly worried about it.” Although everyone knew that a Wizard like Tharkûn went off for days without anyone knowing where he went or what he did. But he always came back, that was the important thing.

Gandalf nodded, still looking amused. “Yes, I will. Perhaps when we go,” he suggested now, “you could escort us to Mirkwood.”

The idea of a few more days with Bilbo had Thorin answering without even the slightest pause. “Certainly, Tharkûn. A proper escort would be best.” Although usually in these circumstances, a royal envoy would be sent with the guest rather than a member of the royal family, but Bilbo wasn’t just any guest. Not that Thorin would admit that out loud. He wasn’t quite at that part yet. He’d passed the stage of denial. But he still wasn’t admitting that his One was a Hobbit. Not that his One _was_ a Hobbit. Thorin didn’t have a _One_ at all. But he and Bilbo did share a bond. A connection. Even if Bilbo loathed him incessantly because he’d been an idiot and a fool (Thorin being the fool in that context of course, not Bilbo).

There was something between them, and now that Thorin was older and a little wiser (only a little) he wasn’t going to let that just waltz off into the distance never to be seen again.

He needed to go back to The Shire.

His father took it better than expected.

“I was wondering when you’d ask that,” Thrain sighed later that evening, as they sat in his study.

“You mean you don’t mind?” Thorin asked, brow furrowing. “I mean, I have duties here and-”

“And people will understand. No one would blame a Dwarrow for chasing his One halfway across Middle Earth-”

“He’s not my One,” Thorin insisted.

Thrain just rolled his eyes. “You can spend a month there. That should be more than enough time to mend whatever is broken between the two of you.”

“And if I need more time?” Thorin wondered.

“Then you can drag him back here to Erebor by the points of his ears or the hair of his feet,” Thrain replied simply. “You can’t be away for more than a month. You have duties as-”

“-a prince of Erebor,” Thorin finished, having had _that_ statement drilled into him more times than he could count. “I know, I know.”

Thrain smiled now. “Now if only my your sister-sons were as placated by that,” he said now. “They don’t listen to a thing I say.”

“It is because you are old,” Thorin returned teasingly. “Little boys do not listen to old Dwarves.”

Thrain smacked him on the shoulder.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 “You’re following me to The Shire?”

“I’m not _following_ you,” Thorin insisted.

“No,” Bilbo cut in, “you really are.”

“You need an escort there, so I am taking that duty, but I’ve decided to stay in The Shire for a little while once we arrive.”

Bilbo looked at him in suspicion through narrowed eyes. “How long is a ‘little while’?” he wanted to know.

“A few weeks,” Thorin hedged, “perhaps longer. It is not certain.”

“Catching up with old friends are we?” Bilbo asked, cocking an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest.

Thorin did his best to ignore the jab. “I enjoyed my time in The Shire, yes. Although I didn’t keep in contact with anybody I met there. I’m sure you knew that already. Besides,” he went on now, “someone has to make sure your fields are as plentiful as you boast.”

“You lived there.” Bilbo replied without infection. “You know they are.”

“There’s no harm in double checking. And father wishes me to be part of the negotiations with your Thain, just to be sure.”

Bilbo huffed a sigh. “I still say you’re following me,” he announced, getting to his feet. “Stalker,” he muttered to Thorin before turning on his heel and heading for his room, leaving Thorin alone in the library with Master Ori, who was trying his best to hide a smile as he wrote on parchment nearby.

“Not a word to anyone, little Khuzd,” Thorin sighed before leaving, not bothering to check if Ori nodded in compliance or not.

 

* * *

 

The others seemed to despair at Bilbo having to leave.

“Are you sure we cannot tempt you to stay any longer?” Vini asked him.

“Yes!” Frerin agreed, eagerly nodding. “You’re welcome here as long as you like.” Fili and Kili just pouted in the background, but Fili (being slightly older than Kili) was handling the situation with a great deal more maturity than his brother.

“I have to get home,” Bilbo told them, by way of an apology. “I’ve been gone far too long, and I’m certain if I wait any longer Lobelia will break in and steal all my silver spoons,” he sighed wistfully, “if that hasn’t happened already, that is.”

Dis watched him with a great amount of amusement.  “I do hope you return, Master Bilbo.” She told him. And it wasn’t a suggestion; it was more of an order. But Bilbo was used to it, after all, she was a member of the royal family, and therefore used to telling people that to do. He also found that all Durin’s seemed to have a penchant for being bossy.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can bear to leave home again.” He promised, and it wasn’t a total lie.

As they left, he watched the enormous doors into the mountain slowly get smaller and smaller as they passed through Dale, and then went on towards Laketown.

“What business did you have that took you so long, Gandalf?” Bilbo asked after a while, slightly bored with listening to the clop of hooves and the chirp of birds.

“Oh,” Gandalf gave a half smile, “you know. This and that.”

“This and that.” Thorin repeated from where he was on his horse just behind them, deadpan.

Gandalf made a little ‘hmm’ noise and continued to smoke his pipe.

Bilbo glanced over his shoulder and found Thorin had much the same expression he was sure was on his own face. A perplexed frown. He smiled a little, and then remembered that he’d decided to loathe Thorin for the rest of his life, and turned back forwards, nudging at his pony to move a little faster. _Bad idea, bad idea._

“ _A Dwarf is bad news,_ ” he whispered, repeating what he’d told himself when he’d first seen Thorin again in Erebor. “ _A handsome Dwarf, even more so_.”

“Are you quite alright, my dear Bilbo?” Gandalf wanted to know.

Bilbo gave him a watery smile. “Oh, yes,” he replied calmly. “Just thinking about home.” It would be nice to go back. Home to his warm bed and favourite robe and cheery fire. “I suppose I’ll have a lot to do when I get back.”

“Is the Shire much the same as it was when I last visited?” Thorin wondered.

“The Shire doesn’t really change at all, I think you’ll find.” Bilbo told him, glancing over his shoulder a little. “Although, if you’re coming as a Prince this time, I doubt they’ll think you were the same person who came as a Smith all those years ago, even if you do have the same countenance.”

Thorin looked like he was thinking about that for a moment or two, before shrugging. “There would be no one there that I would wish to meet again anyway.” He said the words very deliberately, watching Bilbo carefully as he spoke.

Bilbo just turned to face the front again.

They passed through Laketown and followed the river until the sun began to set. Even with the fading sun, Bilbo could see the spiking trees of Mirkwood in the distance. They’d be there by midday tomorrow, probably earlier.

Bombur, one of the chefs, who had insisted on coming along to feed them even though they had enough uncooked food to last them the journey, made dinner as they set up their bedrolls.

“Shouldn’t you have a guard with you?” Bilbo asked, rather belatedly, frowning at Thorin’s bedspread like it had personally offended him. It kind of had, because Thorin had put it so close to Bilbo’s own bedspread, and Bilbo wasn’t sure if he could sleep if he knew Thorin was so close by.

“I can handle myself. And if I need help, Bombur can always come to the rescue with one of those knives of his.”

Bilbo looked over to the fire where Bombur was cutting up some venison. “Ah.”

They didn’t speak again for a while after that, Bilbo made a point of sitting next to Bombur and asking him all the questions he could think of about Dwarvish food. When he ran out of those, though, Bombur had finished cooking, so Bilbo could preoccupy himself with that.

But something had occurred to him, and he shifted, bothered, wondering if Thorin might be able to give him and answer. Halfway through his food, he sighed, and stood up, moving over to where Thorin was across the fire.

“Can I ask you something?” Bilbo wondered, taking a seat beside him.

Thorin glanced up, surprised. “Whatever you’d like.”

“Your guard friend…” he began.

Thorin deflated a little, but still answered immediately. “Dwalin, yes, what about him?”

“Is there something going on with him and that, uh… that little scribe. The one…” Bilbo frowned. “Lory?”

“Ori.” Thorin answered, mouth quirking up into a small smile.

“Right, yes. I should have known that. He just seemed so nice, and I didn’t want to say anything, in case he thought I was nosy-”

“But you are nosy,” Thorin cut in.

“Well, yes, but they don’t have to know that, do they?”

Thorin’s smile widened.

“I just wanted to ask. They seemed… well, it looked like they were mooning over each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.”

“Ori’s too young,” Thorin replied, by way of explanation. “Dwalin has to wait.”

“Oh,” that made sense. “Does he have to wait long?”

“He’s been waiting a while, a few more months isn’t going to hurt.”

“So Ori comes of age soon?”

“During the winter months,” Thorin told him.

“Oh,” Bilbo felt a smile stretch across his face. “How nice.”

Thorin chuckled. “I suppose it is, yes. Amusing, more than anything else, if I’m being completely honest. Dwalin’s going insane.”

“You’re teasing him?” Bilbo asked, his voice taking a teasing tone of its own. “How cruel of you.”

“He’d tease me.” Thorin paused. “Well, he _does_ tease me. Incessantly. About everything he possibly can.”

“It’s nice you have a friendly relationship with your guards,” Bilbo mused now.

“We’ve known each other since birth,” Thorin shrugged. “It was a natural thing.”

“I liked Heimdal,” he announced.

“You did?” Thorin didn’t seem pleased.

“He was very nice. I suppose the people in The Shire must just be spectacularly rude.”

A little bit of the irritation wiped off of Thorin’s face. “Yes, I think they might be.”

“Must be a Hobbit thing.”

“Indeed.”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you teasing me, Thorin?”

“Perhaps I am. Does that bother you?”

Bilbo smacked his arm, trying to repress a smile and failing. “None of that. I am being perfectly amicable with you, so there’s no need to-”

Thorin cut him off, completely serious. “Sarcastic and rude are my natural dispositions, Bilbo. Making me change that would rip the heart out of me.”

Bilbo laughed at him, turning back to his food. He felt himself redden when he noticed Bombur watching them curiously. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you, you know.” He said eventually, spooning up some stew. He carefully took a mouthful before continuing. “I just think if you’re going to be in The Shire for a while, we might as well be nice to each other.”

“You don’t seem to be able to be mean,” Thorin told him, scooping up his own food. “Even when you’re being cruel, it’s not very biting.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “There you go, teasing again.” He sighed theatrically. “Whatever are we to do with you? Princes are supposed to be charming.”

“I can be charming.” Thorin insisted, giving him a wide smile Bilbo had never seen before.

“Is that your diplomatic face?” Bilbo asked slowly, watching him with narrowed eyes. “I’ll admit, it’s rather good, but it’s slightly scary seeing you show so many teeth in such an unnatural way for you.”

Thorin pointed a spoon at him, fake smile tampering down so a real one could come up. “Now who’s teasing?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I never said I didn’t tease. Only that you did too much.”

“We Dwarves are biting creatures,” Bombur informed him now, from where he was spooning up a third bowl of stew for himself. “Very sarcastic.”

“I always thought the Elves were rather sarcastic.” Bilbo found himself saying.

“Nah,” Bombur replied, “they’re just rude bastards.”

Bilbo choked on a bit of potato trying not to laugh. “What is it about Elves that you don’t like?” he wanted to know. “Is it because they’re so much taller than you?”

Gandalf chuckled into his pipe, but very quietly. “They don’t help anyone but themselves.” Bombur informed him. “They’re self-serving, tree-shagging-”

“I think that might be enough,” Gandalf cut in smoothly. “We wouldn’t want any Elves to overhear us, being so close to Mirkwood.”

Bombur grumbled a little, but turned his attention to his food nonetheless.

Bilbo smiled into his spoon when Gandalf winked at him.

 

* * *

 

The rising sun was what woke him up, too hot ad too bright to let him sleep any longer. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face into his bedroll and grumbling.

Eventually he got up, stretching, and found Bombur frowning at something in his frypan.

“Something wrong, Bombur?”

Bombur glanced up, looking just as tired as Bilbo felt, and smiled. “No, not at all. Just not sure whether to fry or scramble the eggs.”

“Ah. Asking the hard questions,” Bilbo padded over to look at the fry pan as well. “I have to say, fried eggs are always wonderful, especially when it’s too early for one to think straight.”

“Well,” Bombur grinned, looking relieved someone had helped him make the decision, “I’m here to feed you, and if fried eggs is what you want, then fried eggs are what you’ll get.” He gave Bilbo a considering look as he cracked the eggs. “You seem far too small, anyway.” He said decisively, before grabbing some eggs and cracking them over the frypan.

Bilbo snorted. “I always thought I was getting a little too round in the middle with my age.” Bilbo told him, patting his stomach.

Bombur rolled his eyes. “Don’t talk to me about round in the middle, friend. My brother likes to throw food at me so I break the furniture under the added weight.”

Bilbo laughed so loudly he woke Gandalf and Thorin up by accident.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've been pretty shitty at updates. BUT I have been working on some new stuff, which will be up in the next couple of months, so I hope that makes up for it! I'm partway through the next chapter of this, so hopefully it won't be too long until the next update. Also, if you see any errors, feel free to point them out because I'm not really even bothering with editing anymore.

Thorin had the fake smile on again, the wide and slightly blinding one, when he met Thranduil at the edge of Mirkwood.

“I supposed because the Prince of Erebor was coming I’d better see you through myself, rather than just sending a representative,” Thranduil sighed, looking bored and unimpressed. Bilbo tried not to be offended.

“We thank you for your hospitality and guidance through your forest,” Gandalf had replied.

Mirkwood was still as dark and twisted as it had been when he first came through it. He swore he could see eyes, staring out at him at times. He kept his horse quite close to Thorin’s until they’d come to the other side. It made him feel slightly better. Not that he’d admit that out loud. Hell, he was pretending he didn’t even admit it in his _head_.

Nevertheless, he was thankful when they came out of the other side of Mirkwood and said farewell to King Thranduil. Bilbo was enchanted by the Elves, of course he was, but Mirkwood held a terrifying sort of presence that sunk into your bones. The less time spent there, the better.

Thorin said something under his breath in Khuzdul, which made Bombur laugh, though Bilbo didn’t ask what it was he said. He assumed it was rude and bitter and a glance at Gandalf’s expression verified it.

As night fell they reached the bottom of the Misty Mountains. Bilbo stared up at them, looking at their stretching, jagged peaks and crags, and wondered how long it would take to cross.

“We’ll have to be careful,” Thorin said later that night, looking up at the mountains the way Bilbo had before. “two can easily pass through unnoticed, but four on horses are bound to draw attention from the Goblins that hide in these mountains.”

Bilbo didn’t like the sound of Goblins. He hoped he’d go through his entire life and never seen one, let alone meet one. He figured if he saw one before it saw him, he’d be off in the distance in the blink of an eye, running faster than he ever had in his life.

Hopefully it wouldn’t escalate to that. Bilbo didn’t enjoy running.

What Hobbit did?

That night Thorin put his bedspread next to Bilbo’s. And for every night after that, as they passed through the mountains, he did exactly the same.

They travelled quickly, sometimes not bothering to stop until it was so dark they couldn’t tell the difference between the rocky path and the jagged cliffs. They didn’t light any fires, and ate their food cold, and during the night Bilbo would shuffle slightly over, trying to soak up warmth from Thorin beside him without having to get too close.

When they finally reached the other side, and the mountains began to slope downwards, Bilbo let out a sigh of relief. “One more night without fire and I think I’d have frozen to death.” He announced, gladly letting the slope pull him downwards towards the ground.

They had bacon and sausages that night in celebration, and Bilbo had never had anything that tasted as good. He said as much, and Bombur puffed up even more in pride (which, Bilbo had to admit, he didn’t think were possible with Bombur).

Within the next two days they arrived in Rivendell, and Thorin seemed slightly more at ease with Elrond’s Elves than he had been with Thranduil’s. Bilbo understood. From what he’d learnt there were two types of Elves, the kind ones and the snobby ones. Those from Mirkwood were usually the latter. Probably something to do with all that wine they drank. After dinner (to which Bombur complained through the entirety of due to the lack of meat) they were given warm beds to sleep in, for which Bilbo was greatly thankful. Sleeping on the cold, hard ground did that to a person.

He happily curled into a ball of toasty warmth throughout the night, and stayed in as long as he could the next day before they had to get up to get ready to travel again.

When he met the others at breakfast, it seemed he wasn’t the only one who had a long and peaceful rest. Thorin looked more well-rested than Bilbo had ever seen him before. Although, he had to admit, if he were a Prince he probably wouldn’t get any sleep, either.

Gandalf was just as chirper as he always was. Although, Gandalf really only did have two emotions. Pleasant and scarily angry. The kind of angry that made the walls shake and the fires die down and cower into the ground. But thankfully no one really ever saw that side often.

They set off sometime before noon, their pace a little more languid than it had been the past few days. The sense of urgency they’d felt had died down a little, probably because they weren’t in imminent danger with each passing second anymore.

The sun was warm, his belly was full, and he was well rested. Really, that was all a Hobbit could ask for.

 

* * *

 

When they came into Bree, Bilbo felt a little jolt of excitement in his stomach at the familiarity.

Bree wasn’t far from home. Soon enough the rolling hills of The Shire would come into view and he’d be home again. With his favourite chair and his fireplace and his bed and- and the empty room that was his parents, and the feeling of waking up in the middle of night because he was sure he’d heard his mother in the kitchen getting a midnight snack even though she hadn’t done that for nearly twenty years now.

Well, he’d just be glad to be home, regardless of all that.

They didn’t stop that night. They just continued on, following the path, until they reached The Shire. No respectable Hobbit was out this late, of course (unless he was having a drink or two at the Green Dragon, which was perfectly reasonable) so they had no prying eyes.

They’d stopped in front of Bag End and tied their ponies to the gate, saying farewells to Gandalf, who had business beyond somewhere.

As Gandalf disappeared out of sight with his own horse, Bilbo insisted on letting Bombur and Thorin stay the night. “Now, now,” he’d tutted when Bombur had insisted they could find their own lodgings, “you’ve been so nice, and it would just be incredibly rude if I were to turn you away. It’s just for the night, after all.” He gestured for them to come inside. “I’m sorry if it’s a bit of a mess… I’m sure I’ve got some things in the pantry. Hamfast promised to keep it stocked while I was away.”

“Hamfast?” Thorin wondered as they followed him into the kitchen.

“My Gaffer,” Bilbo explained. “He’s really very good. All the Gamgees are, though. It’s in their blood.” He nosed around for a while, finding something reasonable enough to make for supper (it was far too late and the time for ‘dinner’ had passed). They mostly ate in silence, unless Bombur was asking about Hobbits and their habits, and it was well after midnight when he showed them to the spare rooms, and went off to his own room yawning a tired ‘goodnight’.

He woke a few times that night, as if he could hear his mother’s murmuring through the walls.

 

* * *

 

Hamfast was the first to notice their arrival. He knocked on the door sometime in the middle of first breakfast.

“Well, look who it is!” he grinned when Bilbo opened the door. “Bilbo Baggins!”

“Hello, Hamfast,” Bilbo gave him a smile. “Yes, I am finally back.”

“Alive, too!” Hamfast chirped. “Lobelia said there’d be no way you’d survive travelling that far and soon enough you’d be gone and Bag End would be hers.”

Bilbo resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but just barely. “Yes, well, Lobelia was wrong.” A common occurrence. “I am back, still in one piece. You can spread the word, if you’d like.”

“I certainly will,” Hamfast promised. “But we’re all dying to know, how’d the talks go?”

“Wonderfully,” Bilbo informed him. “King Thrain sent his son, the Crown Prince, as a representative to sort out the niggly details with the Thain, and soon enough we’ll be in open trade with the Dwarves.”

“A Prince?” Hamfast whistled. “Don’t’ think anyone that fancy has ever been _here_ before.”

Bilbo fought a smile, because obviously they’d had royalty in The Shire before, even if nobody had known it at the time (including Bilbo, of course). “Well, I’m sure he’ll feel very welcome.”

Hamfast gave a nod, as if he’d make sure of that himself, and left him to finish his first breakfast.

“Do they always come knocking so early in the morning?” Bombur wondered as he spooned yet another egg onto his plate. He looked surprised. Thorin, not so much. Bilbo supposed it might be a cultural thing.

“Do you not get morning visitors in Erebor, Mister Bombur?”

Bombur shrugged. “Not before breakfast is through, that’s for sure.”

Bilbo laughed at him.

“Well, usually I suppose it’d be the same, but if they’re nosy enough a Hobbit can completely disregard their first breakfast. At least, for a little while, anyway.”

Bombur looked amused.

“I can help you find somewhere to stay after second breakfast, if you’d like,” he found himself offering. “I mean, The Shire is no Erebor, but you can still lose yourself fairly easily here. And Hobbits aren’t all that helpful when it comes to directions. Not with strangers, anyway. And then I can introduce you to the Thain. Gerontius is nice, I’m sure you’ll get along.”

Thorin just made a slight noise in affirmation, nodding slightly as he concentrated on his food.

 

* * *

 

Hobbits, and this is nothing new to Thorin, were very curious creatures. Nosy, some would say. Actually, most would say nosy. So he wasn’t really surprised at all when they received more than a few looks walking to the Inn. More than a few, but that wasn’t the point.

Bombur happily peered over the tables while Thorin secured two rooms for them, inquisitively looking at the food that was being served. A few of the Hobbits looked back, affronted, and some even pulled their food closer towards them, as if Bombur was going to snatch it right off the plate and gobble it all up.

Although, Thorin had to admit, that may have been a possibility. Bombur was always hungry.

Once that was sorted out, Bilbo le them to the Thain’s Hobbit Hole, where they were received with a great deal of food laid out on the table.

“Usually I’d have provided some cakes and tea, but I’ve been told how Dwarves like to eat,” Gerontius had said, waving a hand at the feast before them. “I supposed it would be rude not to put a feast on for you.”

Bombur happily began to chew down without a second’s hesitation while Thorin took his own seat and began to negotiate with the Thain. The major details had already been set out, but there were still small, niggly details to be fixed.

Bilbo left halfway through with a smile and a nod, jabbering on about having to stock back up on food and fix up his garden.

The Thain smiled at him as he left. “I think it’s been rather good for him,” he said all of a sudden.

Bombur looked up from his food, a frown on his face and his mouth stuffed full.

“The travelling,” Gerontius explained. “He’s been living very quietly since his parents died, even by a Hobbit’s standards.”

“When did his parents die?” Thorin had been thinking about it, when they’d returned to the empty house and Bilbo had fretted over his mothers dishes. He didn’t say anything though. It wasn’t really his business, even if he wanted it to be. That could come later.

“Some years ago. He was quite young at the time, only in his twenties.”

Bilbo had been in his twenties when Thorin had been here. Something unpleasant churned in his stomach at the thought of Bilbo being left alone not long after he’d left. Bilbo had made it very clear Thorin’s actions had hurt him- had it been worsened by the loss of his parents soon after?

If Thorin had felt like a cad before, he felt even more so now.

“I thought Hobbit’s didn’t like adventure.” Bombur said, through a mouth full of food. “Bilbo said you all like to stay in your little Hobbit Holes all yer life without leavin’.”

“Everyone needs a distraction sometimes.” The Thain answered, shrugging simply. “Even if some of other Hobbits disagree, Bilbo always has the Took side of the family behind him. And the Tooks, although odd, have always been accepted, albeit a little frowned upon. We’ve never been ones to shy away from an adventure or two.” He grinned. “Did you ever hear about my great-grand-uncle Bullroarer?” he asked now, before continuing on like he wasn’t expecting an answer. “He was so big, he could ride a proper horse! He charged through the ranks of the goblins in the Battle of the Green Fields, and knocked their king Golfimbul’s head off with a wooden club! It sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole! And thus the battle was won and the game of gold invented at the same time.”

Thorin was impressed. He’d never heard of this Bullroarer before. Certainly it ought to be something written about in great books. But then again, most Hobbits were more interested in books about gardening or food; they wouldn’t be too keen on great battles fought long ago. Perhaps there were no records of Bullroarer, or others like him. This seemed a tragedy to Thorin.

If this Took had been a Dwarrow, he would have been immortalised in books and song, his deeds never forgotten. But Hobbits were not like Dwarrows.

“A very impressive story,” Thorin told the Thain. “You have a proud ancestry.”

Gerontius looked pleased. Any other Hobbit would have been embarrassed or ashamed. But not the Took family. Thorin liked the Took’s. He thought that the rest of his family would like them, too. The whole of Erebor would like them. They seemed more Dwarf than Hobbit.

The meeting went well, and by the time they left, all the food the Thain had set out on the table was gone. Gerontius hardly seemed surprised. He just rolled his eyes and sighed: “ _Dwarrows_ ”.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took. Or as I like to call him: Bandobras the Badass.


	9. Chapter 9

Bilbo was minding his garden when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

“If you’re here for gossip,” he said immediately, keeping his eyes on his carrots, “then you can just turn right round and go on home.”

“Gossip?” there was a click of the tongue. “What kind of gossip would this be?”

Bilbo turned uncomfortably to look up at Thorin. “Well, what do you think? You’re the talk of the town. A prince in The Shire? it’s unheard of!”

Thorin chuckled before stepping forward cautiously. “What are you doing?” he wondered.

“Tending to my carrots, if you must know,” he scoffed now. “Hardly a Dwarven activity.”

“Indeed it isn’t.” Thorin agreed. “I don’t know why you lot bother with carrots and cucumber and all those other green things.”

“Carrots aren’t green, Thorin.” Bilbo sighed in reply.

“Well I don’t eat them, so how am I to know?” The tone was teasing, and Bilbo could hear a smile.

He just rolled his eyes. “Always so teasing, Thorin. You ought to tone it down; Hobbits don’t like that very much.”

Thorin just made a noncommittal noise and continued to watch him. “I heard about your parents,” he said after a few moments silence. Bilbo stiffened. “I offer my deepest condolences.”

Bilbo stopped his gardening and stared down at his hands. “Yes, well… thank you,” he managed. “It was a long time ago.”

“Just after I left, or so I’ve been informed.”

“It was, yes.” Bilbo replied tightly. “A year after.” He paused. “I suppose it only made me hate you more, for some odd reason, even though you had nothing to do with it.”

Thorin cleared his throat, very clearly uncomfortable. “It’s understandable,” he replied gruffly.

Bilbo let out a choked laugh. “Not really,” he sighed, shifting so he could meet Thorin’s gaze again. “It seems very immature for me to blame you for something like that. Even if I did loathe you at the time. You’d been gone for a year!” he threw his hands up, letting out a huff that blew his curls out of his face. “It was all very childish.”

“I was childish-” Thorin began.

“Suppose we both were,” Bilbo cut in now, waving a hand. “That doesn’t mean we have to be childish now. I can’t change what I thought or felt.” He glanced up at Thorin from underneath his lashes. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you though,” he was quick to inform. “You haven’t grovelled nearly enough for that.”

Thorin’s lips twisted up into a smile. “Then I promise I will do my best to grovel some more,” he assured him, bowing politely.

Bilbo snorted. “You can start by helping me with this, then.” He gestured down to the ground. “Start pulling the weeds over there.”

Thorin groused, but Bilbo thought it was more for saving face than anything else, because he got down on his knees immediately and started pulling weeds.

Which was a surprise that he could tell the difference. It made Bilbo a little bit suspicious, if he was being completely honest.

Dwarves didn’t garden, Bilbo knew that.

 _Everyone_ knew that.

“You seem to be quite good at this,” he commented shrewdly after some time. “Gardening comes to you naturally.”

“Mahal above, don’t tell anybody. I’ll be disowned.”

Bilbo laughed at him.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was told that the first shipment of food would be ready within a fortnight, which was not only a great delight, but a great surprise as well. He sent word by Raven to his father immediately to ensure he had Dwarrows on the way to The Shire in time to pick it up.

Afterwards, he left Bombur to sneak into the Inn’s kitchen to get a look at some of their recipes and went for a walk. He told himself he wasn’t going in any particular direction, but he knew he was lying. He always went in the same direction when he went for a walk, ever since he arrived in The Shire, and when he came to a stop in front of a familiar round green door, he was certain that the more time that passed, the harder t was to deny certain things. And after all, what did it matter, anyway, whether he denied it or not? Bilbo certainly wasn’t going to change his mind.

He was behaving amicably, for the sake of the trade agreement, but it was very unlikely that he’d ever _forgive_ Thorin, especially given the circumstances that had just come to light. Mahal, Thorin had treated him like some sort of toy, and then after he was gone his _parents_ died. No wonder he’d been so bitter. So no, Thorin could hardly blame Bilbo for hating him. Well, maybe not _hating_ him, not anymore. They were certainly behaving as friends might. But only friends.

And unfortunately, that acknowledgement of it did put a strange twinge in his chest.

Bilbo answered the door almost immediately, mainly because every day for the past week Thorin had shown up on his doorstep at the same time.

“Come on,” he gestured for Thorin to come inside. “I’ve put the kettle on.”

Bilbo’s house was warm and cosy and far more welcoming than any room Thorin had ever been invited into in the whole of Erebor. Or perhaps that was just because it was Bilbo inviting him inside.

“Are you hungry? I made oat cookies yesterday, and I’ve got some leftover.”

Thorin just made a noncommittal noise and followed him into the kitchen.

“Bombur sends his regards,” he informed Bilbo as he made the tea, taking a seat at the table. “He’s been rather distracted with all the food they’re getting him to try at the Inn. He’s become rather popular.”

Bilbo laughed, eyes crinkling delightfully at the corners.  “I’m not surprised. Hobbits like a well-rounded fellow.”

Thorin snorted at the pun.

“And how are the trades going?” Bilbo wanted to know.

“Fine. I’ve sent word to my father about when the food is due to be shipped. I’m sure he’ll send men down immediately to take it back.”

“So you’ll be staying a little longer, then?” he wondered, sounding curious.

“Well, yes, of course,” Thorin replied. “Anything for a little more food and comfort before heading back to the icy cold mountain.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “God forbid you return to your duty,” he joked dryly.

Thorin was silent for some time before speaking again. “I do think about leaving, you know.” He said eventually. “Erebor, I mean,” he went on when Bilbo turned to him, looking confused.

“Oh?”

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this whole ‘kingly’ business.” He’d never told anyone this. He wasn’t quite sure why he was telling Bilbo, but he’d worry about that later. “One screw up and you’ve ruined everything. I don’t know if I can handle that sort of pressure.”

“You do well under pressure,” Bilbo assured him, and Thorin was certain he could see a small smile on his lips. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about not knowing anything. No King knows _everything_.” He laughed now. “Some like to pretend they do, but no one really does.”

Strangely enough, Thorin felt assured by that. “Yes, yes,” he sighed now as Bilbo set the cups down on the table, “I suppose you’re right.”

“Have you told anyone this?” Bilbo asked. “About wanting to leave, I mean.”

Thorin shook his head. “No, no. Father would be dreadfully disappointed. And I’m not sure anyone else would… understand, if you get what I mean.”

They abandoned conversation in favour for their tea.

“You’re young Thorin,” Bilbo told him after some time had passed.  He set his cup back down in it’s saucer. “Well, for a Dwarf, anyway. You’re barely an adult. You have your whole life ahead of you to learn and work and when you do, eventually, take over, you’ll be much older and far more confident.” He smiled fully now, and Thorin ignored the kick in his stomach at the sight. “It’ll be a while before that, anyway.”

“I’m… surprised,” Thorin told him now. “To go from Thorin the Deceiver to Thorin the Completely Capable. Mahal must be looking on me favourably.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but was smiling anyway. “Yes, well- don’t get a big head about it. You won’t be able to fit through the door next time you visit.”

Thorin grinned at him. “I’ll try my very best,” he vowed.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo was trying really, _really_ hard to not enjoy Thorin’s company too much. Because Thorin would leave again. Of course he would. He was a Prince, and soon enough he’d be back off to his Kingdom. He couldn’t like him, because he’d just go again. And Bilbo would be left alone, in his empty Hobbit Hole.

So he just couldn’t.

Although, that was easier said than done, especially when Thorin _insisted_ on being charming and funny and entertaining and not irritating Ii n the slightest like he had been when Bilbo had first gone to Erebor. But now… the twisting hatred he felt and turned into something else. Something completely inconvenient and utterly problematic.

In fact, he’d been muttering to himself about his new problem the afternoon the Summer Chase was announced.

“You going to run?” Hamfast asked him during elevensies.

Bilbo frowned down at his tea, shrugging. “I don’t know…” he picked at a biscuit anxiously. The idea of going into the Chase and not having someone try to catch him was… well, it would be beyond embarrassing. Even if he had the most luxurious Hobbit Hole in all of The Shire, he was odd. And all the spacious rooms in the world didn’t make up for an unconventional Hobbit.

“Ah, come on!” Hamfast set his cup down with a clatter. “You’ll have plenty of Chasers, I’m sure. You’ll have your pick of the batch.”

 Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I just don’t…” he huffed, “what if I Run and no one wants to Chase me? Do you remember Fligre Batterbaum? Ran for three years in a row and every time no one chased him. He was the laughingstock of The Shire.”

“You’re not Nigel Batterbaum, Bilbo.” Hamfast told him, sounding certain. “I think you’re more worried about being chased by someone you don’t like rather than being chased at all. You’re afraid that the person you _want_ to chase you _won’t_ chase you.”

Bilbo lifted his cup to his lips, grumbling. “I don’t want to,” he whined after a moment.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Hamfast scolded now. “Your mother would be disappointed. It was bad enough you refused to do it before she died, but you ought to at least do it once- for her sake.”

Bilbo had never Ran in the Summer Chase before because he’d been certain at the time that he’d never feel one ounce for anyone else what he’d felt for Thorin. And now, unfortunately, his previous certainties were being validated.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Think about it. It might turn up better than you think.”

Bilbo sighed. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Hamfast looked pleased, and promptly let the matter drop, thankfully.

 

* * *

 

It was early morning a few days later when Bilbo went out to check the post and tripped over a bouquet of flowers on the front doorstep.

“I just don’t see why someone would leave flowers on _my_ doorstep.” Bilbo told Bombur later that morning over scones. “I’ve never had anyone leave any before. I’ve never been part of The Chase before.”

“Maybe this is the perfect chance for you to _be_ part of The Chase,” Bombur told him, reaching for his umpteenth scone. Bilbo would have to make some more soon. “I’m told it’s a very important thing.”

“Of course it is,” Bilbo replied with a huff, “everyone does it when they come of age.”

“Except you,” Bombur countered.

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed miserably. “Except me.”

Bombur laughed at him and slapped his back. “Cheer up! You’ve got an admirer.”

Bilbo looked at the flowers now, which he’d set in a vase on the kitchen counter. “I suppose so…” he said now. “It’d probably be offensive if I didn’t run now.”

“Just see what happens.” Bombur told him. “I’m sure everything will work out in the end.”

Usually he’d find himself agreeing, but he couldn’t help but be pessimistic about this whole thing.

 

* * *

 

The Summer Chase took place on the first day of summer every year and this summer was no different. Before the chase, all participants, both Runners and Chasers, were blindfolded and led to the start. The Chasers were given flower crowns to offer their Intended after they’d caught them. And if the Chaser accepted the flower crown, three offerings were then presented to prove they were a worthy suitor. And if those three offerings were accepted, then a proposal was announced.

It all seemed pretty straightforward, but the whole idea of it made Bilbo’s stomach churn in nervousness. What if he wasn’t caught? What if he _was_ caught and he didn’t like the Runner who’d caught him? What if he’d become the new Nigel Batterbaum? He wasn’t sure if he could stand that.

He almost pulled out at the last minute on the morning of The Chase, and he would have for certain if Bombur and Hamfast hadn’t dragged him down to the edge of the forest.

He couldn’t control the anticipation flickering in his stomach as the minutes ticked by and the Thain came down to the Runners to blindfold them before going off to the other side of the forest to blindfold the Chasers.

“This is such a bad idea,” Bilbo maundered, squeezing his eyes shut even though he was already blindfolded.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Hamfast told him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You just concentrate on running.”

Bilbo inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. He could do this. It was just running, that was all. He just had to keep going. And if he wasn’t Caught he’d just run right out of The Shire and past Bree and he’d live with the Elves for the rest of his life in hiding.

“What are we waiting for now?” Bombur wanted to know.

“The Hobbits lined around the forest will pass a signal down, so we can set them off.”

“How exciting!” Bombur cooed, sounding eager to see how it all worked.

“Nice to know one of us is enjoying it.” Bilbo grumbled.

Bombur just laughed at him.

“Alright, here we go.” Hamfast grabbed his shoulders.

Bilbo tensed. “What?”

But instead of replying, Hamfast just turned him about three times to confuse his sense of direction.

He staggered to the side, shaking his head as Hamfast pushed him forwards. “Ready?”

Bilbo groused and reached up to pull off his blindfold. “Can I take it off yet?”

“Just wait, just wait.” Everyone paused, waiting for the signal. “Now!”

Thankfully, Bilbo removed the cloth over his eyes and darted off into the woods, in the same direction as all the other Hobbits. Cheering erupted behind them.

Soon enough, all the Hobbits split up in different direction and Bilbo was left on his own running towards the right edge of the forest. He’d never been quite sure about this bit, running about in the forest until someone runs into him. He was so preoccupied with frowning and wondering what he ought to be doing that he got his foot caught in an upturned root of a tree and he tripped and almost fell on his face. Thankfully, however, he caught himself and pulled himself back upright again, grabbing hold of the tree trunk. _Also thankfully_ there was no one to see him make a complete arse of himself. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, and looked about.

He hadn’t been in the forest for some time, so he wasn’t entirely sure where he was precisely. Wouldn’t that be rich? A Hobbit getting lost during a Chase. He began to walk again, deciding that if he was lost he might as well just keep going.

He was wondering if maybe he’d wind up in the Blue Mountains or something when he was knocked to the ground, all the breath whooshing from his lungs.

“Ugh!” he spluttered, leaves in his mouth, and twisted to find who’d knocked him off his feet and Caught him. “ _Thorin_?”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Is this some kind of joke?” Bilbo demanded, stomping his foot.

He was standing with Thorin in his Hobbit Hole, having all but rushed there once The Chase was through.

“Of course it isn’t.” Thorin told him, arms crossed over his chest. “I may have been unkind in my younger years but I wouldn’t be so cruel, even then.”

“The Summer Chase is not some sort of game!” Bilbo spluttered out, exasperated.

“I’m aware,” Thorin informed him, calm as ever. “The Thain told me as much.”

“The Thain?” Bilbo repeated, floored for a moment.

“I questioned him about it,” Thorin said. “I understand you’re not very fond of me due to my actions, and that you’re quite displeased at the idea of the slight misappropriation of truth in Erebor-” “ _Misappropriation of truth_?” Bilbo repeated, angry. “You told them I was your _One_! That has got to be the biggest and worst lie-”

“I assure you, Bilbo,” Thorin cut in, “my intentions are serious utterly and sincere.”

The words seemed so sincere that Bilbo was flustered to the point of being unable to talk.

Thorin sighed. “I didn’t have a Longing,” he said now. “I don’t _have_ a One. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel connections with people at all, and it doesn’t mean I lie about it, either. I wouldn’t have participated in it if I wasn’t serious, Bilbo.”

Bilbo huffed. “You are unbelievable.”

But Thorin was smiling now. “You’re the one who accepted the crown.”

“I-Well-You-I… Well, I couldn’t very well say no to you in front of everyone, could I?”

Thorin still looked smug.

“Oh, get out,” Bilbo waved at him to leave. “You’re only putting me in an even worse temper.”

“I’ll be back,” Thorin told him, moving towards the hallway. “I have three offerings to give you.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll accept them!” Bilbo called after him.

He heard Thorin laugh as he closed the front door.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was serving to be Bilbo’s biggest frustration with these offerings. First he showed up, suggesting he fix Bilbo’s door, or mend the pots he had that were falling apart but he refused to throw away because of silly sentimental attachment. Of course Bilbo had said yes. After all, Thorin was a talented blacksmith and there _were_ things that needed mending about the house. To be perfectly honest, it was rather nice having someone around who could do the things Bilbo had difficulty with. Hobbits didn’t exactly make very good smiths, obviously.

He wanted to be angry, to be furious; apoplectic and irritated, but he couldn’t help but feel anything but flattered. In a way, he knew it was partly Thorin’s way of making things up to him- of treating him properly after the incidents so long ago.

A small part of him had been a little disappointed at the lack of genuflection and grovelling. But only a small part. Bilbo wasn’t overly sadistic in that way, and he certainly wasn’t going to drag Thorin through fire and glass just to get some satisfaction from an old grudge.

And having fixed pots was nice. The handle on his mother’s old skillet was all but broken off before Thorin got his hands on it.

And it was a good offering. Hamfast went on and on about that at lunch the day after. A show of skill and talent and the knowledge of what was important to Bilbo. Bilbo just huffed and fixated his focus on his tea and biscuits. But he had to admit, the pots were nice. And the door was sturdier than ever, the intricate metal work over the back of it not only stronger than it had been before but also very pretty. Bilbo would have said that was strange for Dwarvish work, but now that he’d been to Erebor, and all metalwork and carving there had a beauty and skill that was almost unparalleled.

Perhaps by the Elves, but Bilbo would never say that to a Dwarf. It would be worse than insulting their beard.

 

* * *

 

Thorin showed up on his doorstep four days later before dinner. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Bilbo paused for a moment, thinking about the dinner he had set out on the table, going cold, before sighing. “Yes, yes, come in,” he pulled the door open further before tying the sash of his robe a little tighter.

“Are the locks working well?” Thorin wondered, coming in and taking off his cloak. Bilbo noticed a heavy bundle in his arms, but didn’t mention it out loud.

“Yes, very well. Better than they ever have. Although, I have to say, I don’t think I’ll ever need to use them.” Save from, perhaps, keeping Lobelia out. “I still think my old latch would have served just as well.”

“It is important for you to have proper protection.” Thorin told him, utterly serious, although the statement was made fleetingly, in passing. Like he was certain Bilbo would argue on the subject, and wouldn’t say more to provoke a dispute. “I have something for you.” He came to a stop in Bilbo’s living room, beside his favourite chair.

“A second offering?”

Thorin nodded, before holding out the bundle of cloth. Bilbo stared at it for a moment, wondering if taking it from him to look at it counted as him accepting it. Thorin rolled his eyes. “Just open it.”

Bilbo sighed and took the bundle, surprised when he found it was heavier than he originally thought. “Oh.” He struggled to keep himself from dropping it. “What is this?” He frowned down at it, attempting to balance it in one hand so he could remove the cloth, revealing a rather large and heavy tome, heavy Khuzdul scratched into the front of it. “I can’t read that.” Bilbo looked back up at him in confusion.

“It is a work of our history. It details everything you could ever wish to know about Dwarrows. I know you like that sort of thing,” he waved at the book vaguely.

Bilbo blinked. “I don’t’ read Khuzdul. It’s a secret language.”

“Well, that is the second part of the gift,” Thorin informed him. “I’m going to teach you.”

“ _Teach_ _me_?” Bilbo repeated. “You’re going to teach me _Khuzdul_?” Surely there was some sort of rule against that.

“I am, yes.” Thorin nodded.

Well. That was certainly tempting. Bilbo stared down at the heavy book in his hands. How did Thorin even get a hold of this? “Are you allowed to even do that?”

“Khuzdul can be shared with those close to our kind. My family is very fond of you, they have no objection.”

 “They _know_ you’re intending to teach me?”

Thorin frowned, as if Bilbo was being silly. “Of course.”

“Right.”  Bilbo wasn’t sure how to reply.

“So you accept my second offering?”

He looked so earnest that for a moment Bilbo couldn’t reply.  “Yes,” he managed after a moment, almost dropping the book. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Thorin looked pleased. “I can show you now, if…?”

“Oh!” Bilbo jumped now, just realising. “My dinner’s going cold.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t… ah… I don’t really have anything for you to eat. Not unless you want the last of the cake I made today? Although, that seems rather odd for dinner-”

“That’s fine,” Thorin assured him. “I can show you the basic alphabet while we’re eating.”

Thorin came around a lot more after that, sometimes twice a day, slowly teaching Bilbo the confusing workings of his native language. For a few hours every day, Bilbo would frown at the book, mispronouncing words, with Thorin gently correcting him and trying his best not to look too amused by the whole thing for the sake of Bilbo’s ego.

In fact, he’d been coming round so often that Bilbo now felt odd when he _wasn’t_ around. It was rather disconcerting. Bilbo found himself waking up at night, confused and slightly disorientated, wondering why he was alone and his Hobbit Hole was empty.

“Are you serious about all this?” Bilbo asked Thorin one day while struggling over a story about the maker Mahal. “This isn’t just some friendly game to Hobbits, you know, the Summer Chase and the Offerings. It’s a solemn thing. When you catch someone at The Chase and give them Offerings, you’re showing the completely serious intent of-”

“I spoke to the Thain about it at length,” Thorin cut him off now. “I thought that perhaps you’d take me more seriously if I were to approach you by the means of your own people.”

“And you do understand that if I accept your third offering that my people consider that as a-”

“Declaration of proposal, I know.”

Bilbo heaved a sigh. “I just don’t understand,” he said now. “I don’t understand it in the slightest.”

“When I first met you, you stuck with me. Even though the circumstances were…” he searched for the word for a moment, “less than favourable. I remembered you; out of all the Hobbits I’d met and known. When I was forced to return to Erebor for my duties, I regretted not being able to see you again. I was misguided and foolish in my youth, and I considered that trivial, but I won’t throw it away so easily now that I know it for what it is. Something about you sunk into me, and I can’t shake it- and I don’t want to. I know you don’t believe me, although,” he went on, “I think you may believe me a little more now than you did before. And I promised I would make it up to you and prove to you that my intentions aren’t as… insidious as they had been before.”

“You say this like you owe me some sort of debt,” Bilbo replied, “that by doing this you’ll ‘make it up to me’ somehow. The Chase isn’t like that. The Chase is for people who wish to spend the rest of their lives with each other. It isn’t a means to pay debts.”

“This isn’t some sort of debt,” Thorin argued, putting a hand up to stop Bilbo now. “This is me showing you my intentions in a way you’ll be more likely to understand. Dwarven culture isn’t something understood by many who are out of our circles. This way I understand what I’m doing and you understand as well.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but, after realising he had no idea what to say, snapped his mouth shut. “I don’t-” But a thought occurred to him. “If you do this, in my culture it’s deemed a proposal, but it’s not in yours, is it?”

Thorin shook his head.

“So, it would be a one-sided thing,” Bilbo continued. “Your people wouldn’t recognise it as-”

“No, they wouldn’t.”

“So if it did happen- if I did accept your third Offering- there would still be Dwarven courting to do.”

Thorin considered it. “Yes,” he agreed after a moment, “that would be right.”

“And Dwarven courting goes on for-”

“A year. To begin with. After the year, there are three choices available. You can sever ties if the courting hasn’t worked out, you could request another year if you’re still unsure, or accept the proposal.”

“A year,” Bilbo exhaled now. “A whole year.” Maybe two. “But your family-”

“Would be more than pleased at the idea of you being part of our family. Believe me they’re all rather attached to you: I’ve had Fili and Kili insisting that I try and court you.”

Bilbo let out a huffing laugh. “They do seem to like to meddle in things.”

“That they do.”

“Do they really like me that much?” Bilbo asked after a moment of silence.

“More than they like me,” Thorin informed him dryly. “All the messages I’ve received have been asking about you and when you’re coming back. My own brother didn’t even ask me how I was.”

Bilbo looked down to hide his smile, but Thorin saw it anyway and rolled his eyes.

“I do like them,” Bilbo told Thorin now. “They were very kind to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a warm welcome anywhere. And that includes Hamfast’s home, and I have to say he is very welcoming.”

“I’ll pass the message on, I’m sure they’ll be pleased.”

Bilbo fiddled with the pages of the tome they were going over. “So you really are serious?” he asked, glancing up at Thorin from under his lashes. It was still very hard to believe it. He was certain he’d wake up one morning and Thorin would be gone, without any goodbyes, back off to his Kingdom.

“I am utterly serious,” Thorin promised him. “I have never been more serious about anything in my life. Apart from maybe my suggestion that Frerin should move to Rivendell.”

Bilbo burst into laughter.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Bilbo was fretting over the slight tear in his favourite trousers one cold evening when a heavy rapping sounded on the door, loud and quick. Bilbo had heard it enough these past few weeks to know who it was.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, surprised as he pulled his door open. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He looked rather cold in the rain, not wearing his usual heavy fur robe, like he’d been in a rush and had just left in what he’d been wearing. His hands were behind his back, hiding something.

“What did you need?” he asked, trying to peer around the side of him to see what he was holding without being too obvious. Not that it worked very well. “I didn’t think we were meeting for the Khuzdul lesson until tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not here for that,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I wanted to talk, if you didn’t mind.”

“Oh, well, come on in, then,” Bilbo gestured for him to come inside. “It’s freezing out there. And you’re already soaked enough. Did you walk all the way here in the rain? Without anything to cover you?” He frowned. “That seems silly. You should come and warm yourself by the fire, or you’ll catch  a cold. Should I make some tea?” He wondered as he led Thorin into the living room. “I have some leftovers from dinner if you’d like-”

“I’m fine,” Thorin assured, coming to a stop near the fire. Which was probably good because Bilbo talked too much. He knew he did. “I just need to talk to you.”

They stood there in silence for a moment before Bilbo aimlessly gestured to him. “Alright, then. Go on.”

Thorin inhaled deeply before speaking. “I’ve come to give you my third offering.” He announced, lowering himself onto one knee.

“Oh.” Bilbo suddenly felt rather pressed. “I, uh-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Thorin cut him off. “Just…” he pulled whatever he was hiding behind his back.

“Is that-?”

”My crown,” Thorin finished. “Yes. This,” he weighed the crown in his hands, “is the symbol of my kingdom and my rule. It’s my past and my present and my future and everything that I am. So I’m offering it to you.”

 “Thorin,” Bilbo managed, stuttering the word out.

“You may not be my One,” Thorin told him now. “I never had a Longing, but I still love you with all the fervour a Dwarf could ever hold for his One.” He grinned now. “I’m sure you know that if any Dwarf ever found out that I’d done this-meddling with flowers and other silly things, I’d be laughed out of the Lonely Mountain.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that.

“I’m not asking you to marry me,” he went on. “At least, not by my people’s standards. I’m asking you to give me a year. Just a year. Let me prove it to you, by the means of my own people.”

“A year?”

“A year.”

Bilbo paused. “And if I absolutely loathe you?” he wondered.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Then you’ll be free to cut off all ties to me.”

“No pressure?”

Thorin shook his head. “None at all.”

Bilbo sunk down into his favourite chair. “This is all very abrupt, you know.” He told Thorin. “Usually the offerings are spread over a few months. Not all at once.”

“I’m afraid I’m rather in a rush,” Thorin replied simply, “I can’t stay here forever.”

“And if I were to say yes,” Bilbo queried now, “I would go back with you?”

“You would.”

He looked about his cosy room now, wondering what it would be like to leave indefinitely. “Should you be leaning on your knee like that?” he asked Thorin now. “It seems dreadfully uncomfortable.”

Thorin huffed a laugh before shifting so he could sit more comfortably. “Better?” he queried.

Bilbo just shrugged. “Well, don’t ask me. It was for your sake, not mine.”

Thorin looked impatient. “I don’t mean to press you, but it would be nice if I had an answer sometime this century, Bilbo.”

“Well, it’s all happened so suddenly!” Bilbo defended. “You can’t just jump this on me and expect me to- Well, you didn’t ‘just jump it on me’ but you get my point. I want to,” he insisted, “I _do,_ it’s just… what about this?” he gestured to the Hobbit Hole around him. “I can’t just leave all this behind.”

“You won’t be leaving it behind,” Thorin told him. “It’s not like I’ll be imprisoning you.”

“Thing is,” Bilbo said now, shifting so he could move closer towards Thorin. “If I leave the house again, I’m certain Lobelia will try to break in and steal my mother’s doilies and silverware.”

Thorin laughed at him. “I’d better not let her catch sight of this, then, shall I?” he asked, lifting up the crown in his hands. “I’d hate to lose it.”

“You’d be skinned alive.”

“That I would,” Thorin agreed.

“If I said yes, I’d be the talk of the town, you know. They’d never shut up.”

“They never do now.”

“What if no one likes me? What if we spend a year together and _you_ don’t like me?”

“You worry an awful lot.”

“I’m a Hobbit,” Bilbo answered simply, as if Thorin was being needlessly thick. “We tend to sweat the small things. A war’s on hallways around the world and we couldn’t care less, but if my mother’s doilies are in peril I’ll be up all night.”

Thorin smiled softly, putting a hand on Bilbo’s knee to steady him while he was jittering. “Come back to Erebor with me,” he said gently. “The world won’t end if you do, I can promise you that.”

Bilbo looked at him, unable to repress the slow smile that stretched across his face. “Another adventure, then?”

“Multitudes of adventures,” Thorin assured him, picking the crown back up again, offering it to Bilbo. “So many adventures, you’ll never be bored again. Do you accept my third offering?”

Bilbo grinned fully now. “I do.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that’s finally finished! Hooray. Just a note to anyone who reads my other stories- I will be taking a hiatus for the rest of the month. I’ll be back in December though, with a bunch of new stories, so it’s not that long of a break.


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